Chapter 23

 

 

Rose stared at her manager as if she had lost her damned mind.

“Could you please repeat that?” Rose humbly asked. “What is this about a conference in Macau?”

The manager shrugged. “I only repeat what my higher-ups hand down to me. This came in this morning, before you arrived for your shift.” She pointed to the forms written in terse Mandarin. “There’s a hospitality conference happening this weekend in Macau, and the company wants you to represent us, apparently. Everything’s paid for. Their only apology is that it’s so last minute. I guess the other person they were going to send had to drop out due to needing emergency surgery, but that’s a rumor.”

Rose still didn’t know what the hell was happening until she received a text from Cindy later that day. A text she didn’t have a chance to see until she took her first break around five.

“Are you excited to go to Macau with me this weekend? A friend of mine is having a party, and I’ve arranged for you to take the days off so you can go with me. I’ll be introducing you to all of my closest friends. It’s more serious than meeting my mother.”

Since Cindy would be out of town all weekend, she needed to spend Thursday and Friday focusing on catching up at work. Rose had to get by with Cindy’s sultry selfies that were coded to disappear from anyone’s phone after twenty-four hours. Rose’s weren’t given such technical preference. Her cleavage shots and that picture of her pinching her nipple in the bathtub would be on Cindy’s phone forever.

As it should be…

Rose still wasn’t talking to her brother. Jameson had made his opinion of her clear, and the two had avoided each other for most of the week. That was fine with Rose, who was so preoccupied with her upcoming trip and thinking about Cindy that Jameson was a mere hindrance. Her biweekly paycheck cleared, so she left him some money to pay the electric bill but otherwise spent her Friday morning shopping at a department store along her route to work. She purchased new concealer and a bold, hot pink lipstick she hoped would impress Cindy’s friends. Whoever they were.

She only got about five hours of sleep Friday night, and that was when she went straight home after her shift, ate an instant dinner, and went to bed without bathing or packing. A car met her at the end of her block around nine in the morning, and with only a brief mention to her brother that she was going to Macau for the weekend, Rose took off and hopped in the back of a private car. Jameson had followed her, the little bastard. Whatever his expression as he watched his little sister drive off, Rose didn’t know. Nor did she care.

Naively, she assumed that this might be her chance to fly First Class for the first time in her life, hence the prompt arrival at a local airport. However, it was not the international airport that she had used a time or two to travel to the Mainland. Instead, the driver brought her to a private landing strip on the edge of the city, lined with nothing but hobby planes and the occasional luxury air cruiser. It was such a small yet exquisite bird that awaited Rose when she was let out of the car and met by a woman in a checkered uniform and a scarf around her neck.

“Ni hao,” she greeted, yet her features suggested she was not a native Mandarin speaker. “You must be Ms. Wu. Ms. Ling has asked me to escort you to her family’s plane. Please, hop in.” She motioned to a golf cart only a few feet away.

“Who are you, exactly?” Rose didn’t pay attention to the man hauling her meager luggage into the back of the cart.

“My name is inconsequential, but I work for Ms. Ling’s company. Today, I shall be one of your flight attendants, but I have many duties.”

An inconsequential name? Many duties? Rose didn’t know what to think about either of those things. She merely hopped into the passenger seat and rode in silence to the other end of the airstrip.

A cream-colored plane equipped with a gradual on-ramp awaited them. Rose, who had dressed in the single cotton dress Cindy had purchased her earlier that week, followed the flight attendant up the ramp and into the main cabin, where she was greeted by another woman in a matching uniform. This one warmly said hello with a red-lined smile.

“You must be Ms. Wu.” Her bow was deep enough to humble Rose. “Ms. Ling is already on board. She’s asked me to bring you to her as soon as you’ve arrived.”

Indeed, Cindy was in the back bedroom – because planes could have bedrooms, apparently – speaking on the phone. She didn’t see Rose come in at first, but Rose certainly admired the tight denim jeans and the loose white blouse adorning Cindy’s flattering torso. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that announced she was feeling particularly casual, if it weren’t for the blue eyeshadow and light pink lipstick that invited Rose to come over and kiss her. Yet she waited, for Cindy was speaking English on the phone. It must have been important.

When she finally hung up and turned around, it was with a dazzling smile that instantly eased any of the worries from Rose’s shoulders. “There she is!” Cindy pocketed her phone and met Rose with a surprisingly tender kiss to the lips. If any of the staff were uncomfortable with the brief second of PDA, they did not let on, but it gave Rose a lovely respite from the hectic whirlwind that had greeted her that morning. When they parted, their hands remained locked together as Cindy insisted on giving Rose a tour of the bedroom and bathroom. By the time they reemerged from the shower, which was highly implied to have “massage” jets installed, the flight attendants had vacated the bedroom.

“I missed you these past few days.” Rose took that opportunity to turn around and clasp her hands around Cindy’s face. “I didn’t realize I could miss someone as much as I missed you.”

“Ah, sweetheart,” Cindy said in English. Then, in Mandarin, “you’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever had on this plane.”

Rose laughed. It was the first time she had let go of any stress in her stomach since Wednesday. Longest three days of my life. “Do we have a few moments before we take off?”

Cindy bit her lower lip and brought Rose’s hips closer to her own. “I wish, sweet pea, but I have a surprise for you in the main cabin?”

“Really?”

“Come. Let me show you. The flight is a little under two hours, so we should hurry!”

Rose lurched forward when Cindy took her by the hand. She expected to see the two flight attendants, maybe a pilot or copilot, but when the door opened and revealed the main cabin, Rose was inundated with… people!

She hadn’t heard the crowd of voices in the bedroom. Nor had she seen the entourage following her up the ramp and onto Cindy’s plane. The six women and two men getting to work in the main cabin carried with them cases of makeup, suitcases of dresses and loose fabrics, and enough small appliances to start their own hair salon. Most of them spoke a hybrid of Mandarin and Hokkien, suggesting that they were local Taiwanese stylists, but the occasional French or Indonesian word slipped out to Rose’s confused delight.

“We need to make sure everything’s set up before takeoff,” a woman with a strict bob and glasses as thick as her attitude said. “We only have two hours before we land in Macau. Somebody please tell me where to find that extension cord! Where’s Jules? Is he already in the toilet? I told him to not drink so much Diet Coke before we left the studio!”

“What is going on?” Rose asked Cindy, who continued to hold her hand as if she were about to run away. “Are these people here for us?”

“Of course. You think we’re going to land in Macau without looking fabulous? We may be avoiding the paparazzi and going straight to my friend’s resort in the heart of the casino district, but that doesn’t mean we show up looking like we’re on holiday at a private island.” Cindy flagged down the woman in charge of the stylists. With five steps separating them, she might as well have bridged the gap herself. “My friends are very fussy about their appearances, and really, we should be as well. Besides, it will be your first time meeting them. I want to seriously wow them with your natural beauty.”

Rose didn’t have the chance to ask what her girlfriend meant by that. Within two seconds, they were separated by the busybody stylists who were determined to get them seated in their respective makeover chairs before the pilot announced takeoff.

So, this was what it was like to fly on a private jet, huh? Rose always assumed it would be more… casual. Relaxing. Wasn’t the point to have more freedom of movement and not have to deal with other passengers? A First Class flight from Taipei to Macau had to be much cheaper than this, and would probably be as comfortable! But, Rose supposed, she wouldn’t be allowed to have a total makeover done while one of the flight attendants offered her a choice of champagne or iced coffee.

Coffee. God, I need coffee. Caffeine was the only way Rose was surviving the intense scrutiny her small team of stylists gave her as they ascended several thousand feet into the sky.

She anticipated trying on a variety of dresses, but within a few seconds of being measured, the lead stylist snapped her fingers and told her assistants to “begin construction.” A tablet was passed to Cindy, who lay back in a reclining seat while a woman vigorously massaged those bare feet, and she signed off on whatever the stylist had in mind. Within the minute, Rose stood in the corner of the cabin, stripped down to her underwear and treated like a storefront mannequin.

“We don’t have to adjust her bra,” the stylist said to her assistants. “Seems that she’s already wearing a custom fit.”

Cindy perked up at the sound of that. “You’re welcome, by the way!” she called. “Who wants to come see my underwear? Drusilla, do you have that fabric I asked for? If I’m going to one of these parties at a casino, I want to be plenty comfortable without looking like I am.”

Rose didn’t have the chance to see how Cindy was styled. She was too busy stepping into a nude one-piece that zipped up in the back and having her hair teased by someone with a firm hand. Everyone continued to ask her to hold still as this person styled her hair, that person fussed with her makeup, and two others stitched black lace appliques to her bodice.

“She’s only about 154 centimeters,” Drusilla, the woman in charge, announced to the whole plane. “If Ms. Ling wears the six-inch pumps, we can put her in some, too.”

“Oh, I’m wearing those black heels right there,” Cindy said, “but don’t put Rose in something she can’t walk five kilometers in. We might look more a formidable sight if you put her in three-inch heels or, Heaven forbid, flats.”

“If you’re wearing heels, she has to as well. Otherwise the aesthetic will be destroyed.” Huffing, Drusilla snapped her fingers and summoned a selection of black shoes already in Rose’s size. “How are the appliques coming, Jules?”

Rose was shoved this way and that until she almost fell off her perch. One of the tailors bumped into her so hard that she swore a bruise would form on her hip. The makeup artist assigned to her face glanced at the hickey on her throat, shook her head, and told the fashion experts to cover it up. Cindy was quick to veto that.

“Do you not know where we’re going? I want that thing on full display. Make it pretty, but make it pop. I worked hard on that love bite!”

It was the first time Rose had been mortified by Cindy, who really did not need to air their intimate life in front of all these strangers. This is different from us playing a game and me getting off on it… The more this went on, the more Rose felt like a piece of prime meat, and the only thing keeping her from being bought off the showroom floor was the RESERVED sticker with Cindy’s name on it.

Nobody apologized when they knocked her off her dais. If anything, they complained that she wasn’t a seasoned pro at this and couldn’t handle someone styling her air, another poking out her eye, and someone else stabbing her with sewing needles. What did she mean she couldn’t try on shoes at the same time? “Really, Cindy, where did you find this one?” Only Drusilla was brave enough to ask something like that. Everyone else deferred to them, and that was all Rose needed to know. Cindy and Drusilla probably had a relationship going back years. When Cindy decided to take Rose to Macau for the weekend, she called Drusilla first.

“On second thought,” Rose told the flight attendant walking by with an empty platter. “Can I get some booze? I need it.”

She was given a mimosa, and it was good enough.

Rose had no idea where the time went, considering how much everything crawled once she was asked to sit perfectly still. Yet the pilot announced they were about to make their descent into Macau, and Drusilla begged him to circle for twenty more minutes so they could finish up the appliques on Rose’s dress. Can you do that? Doesn’t air traffic control tell you when to land, and that’s it? Isn’t it a big deal? Yet when the pilot politely said he had confirmed a new ETA of an extra twenty minutes, Drusilla cursed that it still wouldn’t be enough time, and she’d be damned if Cindy’s friends saw such “shoddy” work. Apparently, Cindy’s jacket had lint on it.

I can’t see her. What’s going on? Rose barely saw what she herself was wearing. Her sheath dress had been transformed into a black lace dream that hung loosely on her torso while also cinching at her waist. It fell right above the knees. Very little cleavage, but no tights. Jules – a man, for fuck’s sake – pulled apart Rose’s legs and doused her thighs with anti-chafing powder. Rose didn’t have the chance to protest. Drusilla asked for her mascara to be redone, so Rose had to sit perfectly still. Again.

When she finally opened her eyes, the pilot was begging everyone to sit down. They didn’t have to buckle their seatbelts. Just sit down.

Rose plopped down onto the couch next to Cindy, who smelled like a veritable sex goddess. Rose couldn’t place the perfume. Sandalwood? Pine? Musk? A hint of jasmine? It drew her right into Cindy’s arms, which embraced her alongside the sweet Mandarin words filling Rose’s ears. Drusilla didn’t like that at all. It was wrinkling the clothes!

“I’m sorry if this is too much for you, Rosie.” Cindy parted from Rose, but kept a hand cupping that beautified chin. “Overwhelming, isn’t it? I’m sorry to spring this on you, but you have to understand, my social circle is very exclusive and very concerned with appearances. I don’t want you to lose face because you weren’t up to their standards when you first met them.”

Rose was fed up enough already to say what she was thinking. “You mean you don’t want to lose face in front of your friends because I looked frumpy in my department store lipstick and a dress you bought me earlier this week.”

“It’s a lovely dress, bitter melon.” Cindy encircled her arm around Rose’s midsection. If Drusilla fumed over the wrinkle in one of the black lace appliques, well, her opinion apparently didn’t matter now. “Thank you so much for putting up with the drama. I’m afraid, though, that it’s only a precursor for our weekend. I’m so used to it that sometimes I forget it’s a bit much for new girls.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been hauling stylists on your private jet for a while?”

“Rosie.” No matter how fed up Rose was, Cindy could say Rosie and bring the warmth back to her chest. “If you think this is nuts, you should see who my mother brings on board when she attends regional mahjong tournaments and international garden parties. She makes me look sane.”

There was only question Rose had after that, but she dared not utter it. Will I get to meet your mother? She didn’t mean soon. Even if they were a straight couple, it was much too soon to meet the parents. That was reserved for serious relationships that were on the track to marriage.

The thought of ever meeting Cindy’s mother, whatever she was like, would be the most nerve-wracking dream come true.

Long after they landed and taxied down the Macanese runway, Rose continued to gaze at Cindy with her bold, scene-stealing makeup and hair pulled up tight on the top of her head. Her pants and jacket had both been tailor made from basic pieces while they were flying, perfect for matching her size of the moment. Not that Rose saw anything beyond a svelte figure made only more alluring with those huge heels that were sharp enough to stab Drusilla should she decide to make more alterations.

But it was the lucky gold silk shirt beneath her jacket that had Rose’s hand wandering up the breadth of Cindy’s torso and tugging at one of the fastened buttons. Cindy had respectably snapped every button save the top one, but she couldn’t hide the pushup bra nor the cross pendant resting atop her chest. She could have worn any kind of garish earring, but had opted for simple gold studs.

Rose touched every button before she forced herself to pull away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Cindy smirking in her direction.

For the first time since the stylists descended upon her, Rose appreciated them.