28Thanks to Max2013, Hlahabibty/Tozfeekom, Jilsen, MargaretA66, Xenitha, nethrar, Paulina Ann, Cassandra Smith1, and everyone who read and enjoyed (even without leaving a review). I intended for this to be up at the beginning of the month, but then I got COVID. Then my husband got COVID. And then he got a rebound case. We fortunately had mild cases, but it wiped me out for a few weeks, so here we are.
New chapter is now ready. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 2
"So, here you go." Victor showed Joe two cards and a key. "This one," he held up a blue card, "is your transit card. MRT, LRT, and buses. You can use it for other things, too. Cabs, snacks at convenience stores, overdue library fees – not that you'll be here long enough for that to be an issue – stuff like that. The other one" – the second card was white with an asymmetrical, art-deco logo – "opens the gates to the condo complex. If you don't have it with you, you can't get in." He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks making him look much younger than his thirty years, almost like a teenager. "I figure the key is self-explanatory."
Joe reached out for the key, managing only to grab the white card. He blinked, and tried again, this time snagging the key and the transit card as well. Leaning against the door frame, he got the key in the lock and turned it, letting out a frustrated breath when the door refused to open.
Victor put a hand on Joe's shoulder. "Two things." He waited until Joe turned to look at him. "First, shoes off before you go in the house."
"I knew that," Joe said. He was pretty sure Biff had mentioned it. Several times. Bending down to untie his laces, he quickly realized this was a very bad idea and straightened up. Leaning against the wall, he pushed the toe of one foot against the heel of the other, pulling his foot out before repeating the process with the other sneaker. Then he bent his knees and slid down the wall to grab his footwear.
The other man opened a tall, thin closet tucked in the wall next to the door and gestured, waiting until Joe had placed his sneakers haphazardly on one of the empty shelves, before removing his own shoes and putting them neatly on one of the other shelves with a practiced motion. Then he turned back to face Joe again. "Second, and I guess it wasn't completely self-explanatory, you need to keep turning the key. Something like three times around. It's almost like it's got a built-in deadbolt."
A few more turns of the key, and they were finally inside, Victor following Joe with the suitcase.
Joe blinked, his eyes feeling grainy and bloodshot, the lids barely staying open. "Okay, what day is it again?" he asked, regretting the last beer he'd had on the plane. Even if it did help me calm down, he thought, shuddering slightly as he remembered exactly how long he'd been in the aircraft and pretty sure he was swaying on his feet as he did so.
He was proven correct when Victor grabbed his arm and propelled him through a living area with an impossibly high ceiling then down a short hallway. He shook his head, realizing the man was explaining what each room was as they walked by the closed doors. He blinked again, trying to focus.
"Bathroom. Guest room. Another guest room. Office." Victor was indicating each room with his right hand, his left still gripped firmly around Joe's right bicep. Finally, he stopped. "This is your room. Master bath's on the right," – he indicated a darkened open area with his chin – "bed's in front of you." He released Joe's arm, keeping it nearby for a second to make sure he stayed on his feet. "You get some sleep, and I'll come by in the morning to see how you're doing and remind you of everything else I just said. Then we'll deal with what day it is." He chuckled.
"Sure," Joe said, a yawn splitting his face. "What you said. Sounds good,"he mumbled.
"Welcome to Singapore, Joe," Victor said, flipping a switch by the door as he walked out of the room. "Now go to bed. Don't worry about your suitcase..." The rest of the words were lost in the noise of the overhead fan.
Joe swayed in the direction of the bed. After almost twenty-two hours in two different planes – he shuddered again, remembering the flights; he hated flying – plus the two hour layover in Frankfurt, sleep sounded simply wonderful. The business-class seat had been comfortable, but between the movies, the free alcohol he had taken advantage of to soothe his nerves, and the flying jitters he always had while traveling, sleeping on the planes had been nearly impossible. And now he was paying for it. He dragged himself to the bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth – a habit Aunt Gertrude had ingrained in both brothers when they were small – barely paying attention to anything but putting his feet one in front of the other, then dropped his carry-on to the floor and practically crawled to the cozy, inviting-looking bed, totally ignoring his surroundings and shedding articles of clothing as he went. Pick 'em up later, he thought. He was asleep before he hit the mattress.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was the smell of something cooking that woke him up. He put a hand out to Kara's pillow, frowning when it touched empty air instead of cool cotton, and pushed his eyelids open, realizing after a moment that he had fallen asleep diagonally across the bed, the pillows somewhere just out of reach on his right.. Wonder why she didn't make me move? That doesn't seem... The thought broke off as his mind registered the unfamiliar surroundings. His head dropped back down – Singapore. Right. – then snapped back up as the scent of food hit him again. So, if I'm in here, who's cooking?
The aroma of eggs and onions was making his mouth water and stomach rumble. He opened the bedroom door and padded down the hall, pulling on the shirt he had dropped on the floor and stopping short when he looked through the sliding glass window on the counter and saw the figure standing at the stove.
The girl had long, straight black hair that looked as if loose it would fall to her waist but was pulled back in a long braid that still went three-quarters of the way down her back. She wore a pink t-shirt and pale blue shorts that ended just above her knees. She also made Kara look tall, possibly just scraping five feet if she put shoes on. But only just. There was something familiar looking about her, but for the moment, he couldn't place it.
A faint breeze from the balcony's open sliding door made the hair on his arms flutter, and Joe shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly very aware that all he had on was a short-sleeved shirt and boxer shorts, then quickly glanced down to be sure he really did have the boxers on. Last thing I need is to get arrested for indecent exposure. In Singapore of all places. He ran a hand over his forehead, mentally playing through the phone call to Frank that would cause. Or worse, Kara.
Shaking his head to dispel that cheerful mental image, he cleared his throat and waved. "Um. Hi?"
The girl turned from the stove top, bowing slightly as she did, and slid open one of the glass panels keeping the kitchen separated from the living/dining area. The aroma of the food became stronger and a brief blast of heat escaped though the opening. "Good morning, sir. Would you like kapi? Or perhaps milo?"
She was definitely Asian, but Joe wasn't sure from which country. Her voice indicated she was older than he had thought, possibly in her very early twenties, and her English was excellent, but, even with that, he still hadn't understood anything after 'good morning.'
"I'm sorry. What?"
"Kapi. Coffee. Or milo." She picked up a glass bottle of something that looked like freeze dried chocolate granuales and showed it to him.
"Uh, no. Thanks." He swallowed, his throat suddenly impossibly dry. "I'll have orange juice. If there is any. Or water. Water is fine."
She put the bottle down on an impeccably clean marble counter. "Orange juice. Yes, sir. Breakfast will be ready soon, sir."
Joe put his hands up. "I'm sorry, but who are you? I don't want to be rude..."
The girl bowed her head slightly, one hand turning down the heat under the frying pan full of scrambled eggs. The food looked wonderful.
"I am Chona, Mr. Hardy, sir. The maid." The words were said in a matter of fact tone.
"The maid?" Joe took a step back. "I didn't... I mean, I don't..."
Chona deftly flipped the egg and onion mixture in the pan with one hand. "I live here, Mr. Hardy, sir." With a flick of her head, she indicated a door at the back of the kitchen. "I work for the company."
"The company?" Joe felt as if his brains were as scrambled as the eggs.
She gave him a long, pitying look. "Yes, sir. The company. Capital… Financial…" The words were said slowly and deliberately, her tone even and her expression neutral, but there was a brief glint in her eye that clearly said she wasn't completely convinced of his intelligence level.
Joe blinked. He had seen the exactly same look in Biff's eyes more time than he wanted to remember when they were in high school. He let out a breath. "So, I'm guessing you know Bi.. Allen Hooper?"
Every bit of mischief was wiped clean from her face. "Mr. Biff visits here regularly, Mr. Hardy. He said you are a friend, and I am to take care of you while you are here."
"Really? Biff said that?" Joe tilted his head to one side. "That was…"
"He said I needed to keep you from making too many mistakes." She turned sideways and pulled a plate and small glass from a cabinet to her left.
"I'm glad he has so much faith in me," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "And it's Joe. Mr. Hardy is my father."
Chona scooped up a large serving of the egg mixture onto the plate and placed it on the far side counter close to him. Then she turned to the refrigerator, removed a clear pitcher with juice in it, poured some into the glass, and put it next to the plate. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Joe." She closed the partition and turned away.
"O… kay…" Joe grabbed the plate and the juice and walked over to the round table placed to the side of what looked like the living area. The table with four chairs was on one side of the room with the very high ceiling and a sofa and coffee table were on the other. The sofa was angled so it could view both a flat screen television mounted on the wall or the view out from the patio. Not wanting to go out on the patio in his underwear – it was bad enough he had been only partially dressed in front of Chona – Joe took in the outside view from the dining table.
Through the sliding glass doors, he could see the patio was good-sized with a three-foot high, solid glass wrap-around fence so as not to impede the view. And what a view it was. This is, what, the twenty-fourth floor? Joe couldn't remember where the elevator had stopped last night, he had been so tired. As he ate mouthful after mouthful of fluffy and delicately seasoned eggs, he looked out at the skyscrapers both to the right and farther away in the distance. The sky to the near left appeared empty, but he figured he would see what was in that direction later.
He remembered Victor had mentioned coming over in the morning, but wasn't sure how much time he had, so showering and dressing were next. Picking up the dirty dishes, he tried to bring them into the kitchen, but couldn't figure out how. There was a glass door separating the kitchen area from the rest of the apartment, and it seemed to be locked. He knocked but got no answer, so after a few seconds, he put the dishes on the counter on his side of the partition.
On his way back to his room, he opened the doors to peek at the other rooms. The guest rooms were small, but neat and comfortable looking. The bathroom on the right side of the hallway had a stone floor and a walk-in shower that took up the entire back part of the room. The office was equipped with a computer and printer on a desk with a comfortable chair that looked like it could be configured ergonomically for people of many different heights.
"This must cost the company a fortune," he muttered, but as he thought about it, he realized it was probably cheaper to rent – or buy – an apartment than to put the people who rotated through the office up in hotels for weeks at a time. They can probably also write it off as a business expense, he thought.
When he walked back into his room, the first thing he noticed was that the bed was already made, his clothes were gone from the floor, and his suitcase was up against a far wall with his carry-on draped over it.
"Chona's efficient," he said to himself as he wondered exactly how she had gotten to the room without him noticing. He shook his head. "Probably while I was stuffing my face."
Seeing the room in the daytime made it just how obvious how big it was. The other bedrooms were compact, big enough for one or two people to sleep in with side tables for a clock and a carry-on, but that was about it. This bedroom was huge, nearly the size of his kitchen and living room back home in Manhattan and was decorated in a style that was both subtle and opulent at the same time. The colors were muted, but the décor was obviously expensive. The drapes were open, and the view out of the floor-to-ceiling windows was equal to the one he had glimpsed off of the deck.
Then he turned around, and his jaw dropped.
If the bedroom seemed opulent, the bathroom he hadn't paid attention to the night before looked like it had come straight out of the Taj Mahal. The counters were dark granite with tawny marble sinks and the floors and walls were decorated – because there was no other word – with tiny tile mosaics in the same colors, with a few white and gold tiles thrown in for good measure.
The upper part of the bathroom had two toilets with matching bidets, one on either side of the room, with sinks in the middle. To the side of each sink were open shelves holding fluffy, beige, folded towels, and beside them were baskets of toiletries with brand names Joe had only ever seen on television. A short set of stairs on the side by the bedroom led to a shower area, with a stone floor that matched the sinks, and four shower heads, two rainfall heads and two handheld ones that were anchored to the wall but had attached metal hoses.
To the right of the shower was another short set of stairs, these ones leading to a large sunken bathtub, big enough for multiple people, tiled in the same colors as the floors and walls in the upper part of the bathroom.
Joe swallowed, thinking he would need to find an excuse to get Kara to this apartment. She would love this, he thought. Although, with that tub I'd probably never see her again...
Quickly he went back up the stairs, grabbed a towel, some soap, and a bottle of shampoo, showered, and dried off. Making sure to wrap the towel around his waist before walking back into the bedroom – he really didn't want to be naked if Chona walked back in – he picked out some business casual clothes and dressed.
When he exited the bedroom, he found he was alone, so he went to the balcony to wait for Victor there. The balcony had a long L-shaped couch in a grey all-weather fabric, a matching chair, and a glass-topped coffee table. There were some bamboo-type ferns on one side, and a grill and small, portable firepit tucked away on the other. It was warm and fairly humid, but nothing he couldn't handle.
The view here was even better than from the table inside. He could still see the skyscrapers off to the right, but on the left, the sky was open. Looking down, he could see the red roofs of single family homes clustered on a small road. As he looked out toward the horizon, dark clouds congregated to the west. Even though, it stayed mostly clear where he stood, a thunderstorm roiled in the distance, bolts of lightning illuminating the clouds.
Behind him, the patio door slid open.
"It's not uncommon for thunderstorms to pop up on various parts of the island over the course of the day." Victor's voice came from behind Joe, getting slightly louder as the man moved closer to stand next to him. "It's the humidity. You'll be soaked through by the end of the day. Get used to taking multiple daily showers." There was a wry smile on his lips. "And using moisturizer."
Joe looked over. Victor's light brown curls, were springy and slightly frizzy because of the air. He wore a button-up linen shirt in a pale red color and tan ripstop cargo pants Joe had seen in a clothing catalog not that long ago. Sunglasses were perched on top of his head, and his feet, of course, were bare. He looked Joe up and down. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a rock," Joe admitted with a chuckle. "I don't fly well, so I didn't get a lot of sleep on the plane."
A smile hovered around the other man's lips. "You don't say…"
Joe could feel his cheeks flush. "I may try to compensate with alcohol. It doesn't help, and I never remember that. Sorry if I was a bit out of it last night."
Victor waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. You aren't the worst I've seen."
"Really?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Not even in the top five," Victor said. "And you seem pretty awake all things considered."
"I don't suffer too much from jet lag. Or time changes," Joe said, turning to face him. "I think it's compensation for the flying issues."
Victor laughed, an open, friendly sound. "Wait 'til Allen gets here. It takes him two days to adjust." He shook his head. "You'd think with all the traveling he does, his body would adjust quicker." He shrugged. "But no such luck." With his head, he indicated the sliding door. "You ready for a tour?"
Joe nodded. "Am I dressed okay for the office?"
"Yeah." Victor eyed his clothes. "For today you should be fine. We're not open today, and as an outside auditor, you won't be expected to follow the dress code. It's a holiday back in the US, so the international offices are closed. I'm going to show you the layout, then I am at your disposal for the five-cent tour of Singapore. Sound good?"
"Sounds good." Joe pulled the cards out of his pocket. "White one to get in, blue one for the bus, right?"
Victor nodded, his eyes widening. "I'm actually impressed you remembered that."
"I have my moments," Joe said with a smile. "Shall we?"
They went back into the apartment, closed the patio door, and left.