Tales From A Broad (24 page)

This is my fifth experience of Singapore Airlines' business-class lounge. I know the layout. I take my Bloody Mary and head for a spot in the smoking chamber. It's well ventilated and kitted out just enough so that you don't feel like a bad doggy with your nose thrust into your mess, though not so much that it conveys ‘Smoking's cool with us'. The non-smokers or the not-partaking-at-the-moment-smokers can see us through four sides of glass, like the nearly extinct species exhibit we are. I have stood in here before, holding my palm out to Sadie's with the glass wall between us, convict style.

I finish a quick cigarette and join Frank at a small table. The kids are sprinkling minced crackers on the floor.

‘It says here, “Forget about going between Christmas and Chinese New Year. You'll never get in unless you book six months in advance.” How in the world did you swing this?' Frank points at the travel book. I shrug and smile. He drains his glass and fishes around for a regular old peanut, flicking away the cashews and macadamias. KERRRUNCH, chomp, chomp, chomp. I don't eat. I love plane food too much to compromise my appetite. I have never really outgrown TV dinners. They were like getting a present. They were like a mathematical equation. It took a beautiful mind to come up with ‘small tray = full meal'. TV dinners meant Mom and Dad were going out and we'd get to stay up late and watch shows that were way over our heads, like
Manix
and
Carol Burnett
. Mom moved on to Burger King when they claimed the corner of Liberty Avenue and Milford Mill Road, tempted by the lines on the meat that reflected their grilly-ness. That era was sadly replaced by the frozen pizza bagel and we might as well just have shot Saturday night to hell when we sat down to Lean Cuisines (the nascent stages of Mom defatting her kitchen).

Frank dismisses the meals served on planes. He doesn't like being held against his will by the little shelf, doesn't like being dictated to about what and when to eat. He's a card-carrying frequent flier, too jaded to put his chair in the upright position, can't be bothered to look over the movie selections, never even glances to the side as they roll out the linen tablecloths, lay out the fine china and crystal and place the bushel of stainless steel cutlery on the plate with a stimulating clatter. I'm quite sure Frank never gets all Pavlovian at the faintest squeak of the trolley wheels, salivating on cue like the rest of us mortals. ‘Nyet. Nyet. Nyet.' To the hors d'oeuvres, the salad with marinated mushrooms and walnuts, the foil-wrapped Australian butterfish with apricot-brandy sauce, the coconut custard pie and the dessert-redux of cheese, fruit and chocolates. Of course, I've convinced him to order it and just put it on my side. I'll eat two.

‘Fran, this place you have us in sounds fantastic, Relax Bay. It's a little far from the action but we'll rent a car.' He mixes us up a fresh batch of Bloody Marys then engages his pointer finger in the task of uncovering more peanuts.

‘I'm so glad you're happy, Frank.'

Just 15 hours ago, I stole away to our upstairs phone and dialled Valerie. ‘Oh, good, you're home,' I whispered.

‘Hey, mate, what's up?' she asked.

‘Do you think I can buy your Phuket tickets and take on your hotel room?'

‘That'd be lovely. We paid the deposit already. I think it's still there. Let me check.' She held her palm over the receiver but I could hear the muffled conversation. Sam said, ‘That's fine but she needs to transfer the tickets to her name.' Valerie got back on the phone and told me her travel agent's contact numbers. I called Mala from Sime Travel on her cell phone and reached her at a restaurant.

‘Look, I am sooo sorry to intrude on your dinner.'

‘Oh, that is not a problem,' came the distinct Indian accent.

‘I want to surprise my husband with a trip and …' I gave my spiel and asked her if I could assume Sam and Valerie's tickets.

‘I'll get the three tickets transferred into your name.'

Suddenly, I remembered. ‘Oh, shit, Mala, we're four. The Markses are only three.'

‘Ah, not to worry, it doesn't make a difference at the hotel and I'm sure there's still room in business class. I'll get back to you in about 15 minutes.' She did. It was done. Not a problem.

And then I had to call her again.

‘Oh, I'm soooo sorry, Mala, please forgive me. I know you're probably sleeping and all … yeah, it's Fran. Wham, in the middle of the night, I remembered I forgot to tell you we need to come home on the 31st … Would you? Oh, that is sooo sweet. Take a cab and I'll pay for it. Is that your husband? Sheesh, not in the service industry, I'll bet. Thanks. I'll never use anyone but you!' I went back to bed, snug and secure.

Pretty rare in Singapore to find a ‘hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, special orders don't upset us' kind of person. Even if they wanted to help, they just wouldn't know how to move beyond the standard, ‘cannot cannot
lah
' … ‘tickets paid for already' … ‘in wrong name already'. Like the other day, as I passed the Fortune Gardens booking office, I decided, on a whim, to reserve a tennis court for later that night. Silly me, I had forgotten my card. I said, ‘Well, I'll bring it down later. You know me, I play every Wednesday night.' Can you guess what they said? Say it with me: ‘Cannot cannot (and don't forget the)
lah
.' I was rarin' for a fight, it was that time of day.

‘Hey, you let us phone in for a court the day of,' I argued.

‘Yes, you can book a court over the phone for that same day,' he returned.

‘Well, you don't see the card when I call, right?'

‘You don't need to present your card over the phone.'

‘Right.' I took out my cell phone and dialled. I watched him answer the phone.

‘Hello,' he said.

‘Hi! It's me.' I waved to him, fluttering my fingers just inches in front of his nose.

He looked uneasy. Was he supposed to wave back? He wasn't accustomed to feeling silly like this. I continued.

‘I'd like to book a tennis court for six tonight. Can you guess who I am?'

‘Mrs Flank.' He stayed on the phone. He couldn't be accused of not following the rules. ‘Do you want court number one or four?'

‘Four.'

‘Okay, court four at 6 pm.'

‘See ya.' I hung up.

We gather up our stuff, drain our glasses and hike to the gate; it is time to board the plane. Every seat is taken in the departure lounge. Bored children are sprawled on the floor; gnarly-headed, shoestring,
Lonely Planet
types are sitting on their backpacks talking about how Phi Phi beats Phuket (Phi Phi is pronounced
Pee Pee
not
Fee Fee
, just like Phuket is
Pooket
not
Fuckit)
but Krabi's the best. And poised to take over the entire room and eat us if they must is a tour group of lovingly large, comfortably cushioned, wide-in-the-waistband ladies. But we get to board first.

We settle the kids in their plane seats and tuck toys around them. I say, ‘Now, think lovely thoughts … Think lovely thoughts …' Sadie joins me, ‘Think lovely thoughts …'

‘Vacation!' I call out.

‘Nana!' Sadie says.

‘Nana!' Huxley says.

Frank doesn't play. There are certain things he'll never do in public, like juggling or crossing his eyes or shouting out a lovely thought.

‘Sandy beaches!' I continue.

‘Aunt Bonnie!' Sadie says.

‘Aunt Bonnie!' Huxley says.

Frank straightens out
The Wall Street Journal
.

‘Family games!'

‘Grandma's cats!'

‘Grandma's cats!'

Frank makes sure his cell phone is turned off.

The plane ascends. I give Sadie and Huxley a squeeze. As soon as the seatbelt light goes off, I begin my nervous traveller routine. If they think I'm about to go mental, they'll give me a drink faster. I become acutely fidgety, aerobically squirmy. I rock a bit but figure I don't need to be convincingly autistic. I look at the ceiling and then at Frank. ‘It's going to be all right isn't it, Frank? I mean, it's going to be all right, right? Tell me the odds again … Just tell me one more time …'

‘Beverage for you?' the hostess asks.

‘Oh, that might do the trick. Yeah, can you keep my glass full?' I wring my hands.

Frank manages to frighten everyone away on a plane. He looks busy and important. He says no more than one syllable at a time, usually finding it unnecessary to go beyond ‘yes', ‘no' and the meagerly dispensed ‘thank you'.

After four hours, the plane begins its descent. The captain announces that we're over the islands of Phang Nga Bay. These are among the wonders of Asia. The sheer-sided limestone monoliths rise almost a thousand feet out of the water. It was on one of these islands that a James Bond movie,
The Man with the Golden Gun
, was filmed. Phuket comes into view and I can see deep green islands, farms and forests, and long stretches of white beach sporadically interrupted by boulders, outcroppings and dramatic cliffs. The Andaman Sea is a pallet of greens and blues. Its surge rolls in gently, benignly. Its waves are sleepy, quite unlike the turgid, challenging breakers of the Atlantic. Phuket's history, like much of South East Asia's, is full of spice seekers and fortune hunters. The first inhabitants are believed to have been Semang pygmies and Moken sea gypsies who lived in caves. They were later joined by Tamils and Malays. By the late 18th century, European sailors had discovered valuable commodities: ivory, gems and pearls. They were often relieved of these treasures by thorny pirates lurking near the shores.

Phuket has ignored the industrial world, retaining villages where the people live off the sea, living a simple life of fishing and farming, weaving and pearl diving, oblivious to the tides of change crashing through the rest of Asia.

Ears are clogging and I tell the kids to yawn, hold their noses and blow.

‘Think lovely thoughts … Think lovely thoughts …' I chant. ‘Elephant rides!' I begin the game for us.

‘Bmmrlt,' Sadie says.

‘Oh, you can stop holding it now.'

‘Baltimore, America!' Sadie sings.

‘Baltimore, America!' Huxley sings.

‘Okay, bang me over the head, Sadie, I get it. But just think of all the things you've seen that your cousins haven't. You'll have so much to tell them.'

‘So
now
can we go home?' she implores.

Huxley's no better – worse even, with that additional character flaw of being unable to think for himself. ‘
Blah blah blah
' to a real plane but ‘whoo whee' to the chipped fibreglass one outside the grocery store that vibrates for 50 cents.
That
they could sit in all day long. Anything but yet another hot island full of sand and monkeys and elephants. A swing set and a squirrel would do nicely for them. Hey, kids, wanna see the Great Wall of China or stay home and order in? Frank's kids.

‘Sweetie,' I whisper in Sadie's ear, ‘this is a time we'll always remember. It's about togetherness. Being a family. If you complain one more time, I will leave you with that man over there … Oh, Sadie, I'm kidding … a joke … stop crying …'

Like most resort airports, Phuket's is just a place that holds a lot of pamphlets and hangs advertisements on the wall. I collect 16 fliers within the first few minutes. Huxley's winning with about 900.

‘Boy,' I say, flipping through some of them, ‘we're going to be biii-zzeee.'

Frank is several yards ahead and I gather the kids and my bag and shuffle to catch up. ‘Oh, listen Frank, we have to see some of these wats on Wan Phra Day so we can hear the monks pray and then we can go to the aquarium.

‘Hey Frank,' I say as I move out of his way while he digs around for some documentation or another. ‘We could do this one today: the national park. They have gibbons. The kids will like gibbons, don't you think? And then we can take a little walk up to the waterfalls. It's just a short trail, not much more than a mile or so.

‘Oh,
here's
a good one,' I continue as Frank closes his briefcase and walks to the money exchange, ‘Thai Village elephant show and cultural performance. We could do that before dinner or maybe we should …' Frank is talking to a man at a counter. I check to make sure the kids are still here.

‘Hey, Huxley, what's that one? I don't have it.' I take a brochure from his clenched little hand. ‘Oh, a museum, I don't want to do that.' He looks crestfallen. ‘All right, all right, that'd be a great thing to do on Thursday.'

Enough with the child's play, we have serious things to go over. ‘Frank,' I continue, ‘maybe tomorrow we should do the town and Sea Gypsy Village.' Frank is scribbling on forms. He's trying to balance all the passports on a narrow shelf and his backpack is sliding down over his shoulder, as he grapples with the pen. I don't think he's heard a word I've said, so I add, ‘And I'll be working out every morning from eight to ten so you take care of the kids. Thanks.'

We go through Customs and Immigration, get our luggage and look for the driver. I see ‘MARKS' held aloft on a corrugated banner also bearing the name ‘Meridian'.

‘Oh, here we are!' I yodel to the man.

‘Fran, that says Marks.'

‘Yeah, they never understand me with this American accent.'

When we finally arrive at the Meridian on Relax Bay, we are greeted with a gong. A handful of tiny, delicate men and women serve us a welcome drink and drape us in flower necklaces as our luggage is carted off to the check-in counter.

‘Have a nice stay, Mr Marks, Mrs Marks,' they beseech.

We get to our room, a suite at the far end of the building, facing the ocean. We have a large master bedroom, almost as large as the bathroom. There is another section – that would be the living room, I presume. It has a bar, fridge and two pull-out sofas. On the bar is a basket of what must be fruit since it has a heavy, sweet, biodegradable smell and lots of tiny flies hovering protectively nearby. The shapes and colours are monstrously alien, though. There is a note tucked between two gigantic hairy strawberries saying ‘Welcome Marks Family'. I know who
I'll
be calling later today. Great job, Mala. Anyway, let's see that basket again.