The words made Ayah flush with pleasure. She knew Mrs. Lee was only trying to sweet talk her into forgetting that she hadn’t ever been given a tip throughout their stay, but she didn’t mind. She could see that Mrs. Lee did mean her words, and that was cool.
“It was my pleasure to help you, Mrs. Lee.” She pointed to the clock. “But I think you guys need to get going or you’ll miss your ferry.” They exchanged a few more words of niceties and then it really was time to go. Ayah turned away, a smile on her face. Mission accomplished, Mom. Another satisfied customer guaranteed—-
Someone shouted from behind, “Ayah, wait!”
She looked over her shoulder, startled and puzzled. That was when she saw Johnny, Mrs. Lee's tall and attractive nineteen-year-old son walking determinedly towards her.
Ayah gave him a questioning smile. “Yeah?”
He answered by holding her face between his hands and kissing her sweetly on the lips.
Oh my God!
Ayah jerked away from him the same time Mrs. Lee dragged Johnny off her and the crowd around them applauded. Everyone was looking at them, and she could feel herself turning red, especially when Mrs. Lee started reprimanding her son.
Johnny was grinning at her, seemingly deaf to his mother’s furious words. “I’ve wanted to do that since day one.”
She turned even redder at his words. Ayah turned to Mrs. Lee helplessly, hoping for some help but she got the cold shoulder instead, a look of contempt on the older woman’s face. Her eyes widened in shock. What had she done?
“Go get our luggage now, Johnny,” Mrs. Lee ordered, and this time, seeing the hard look on his mother’s face, a frowning Johnny did as asked. He was only a short distance away when Mrs. Lee spun around to face Ayah, snarling, “So that’s why you’ve been so nice to us! You thought to seduce my son and make him marry you?”
Her jaw dropped. “What are you—-”
Mrs. Lee wagged a finger at her. “You will not outsmart me! I won’t let a gold digger take my Johnny away!” She said a few more words to Ayah, the kind that she didn’t want to translate in her mind because it only sounded so much worse in English, before stomping away.
When Ayah recovered from her shock, she saw that everyone was still looking at her, and everyone had understood every word.
Oh, dear.
Ayah took long locks of her hair and used it as a makeshift mask to cover her face as she began her walk of shame out of the building. She normally took her time walking down the busy streets of Tsim Sha Tsui, loving the vibrant atmosphere of the city. She liked to think of the city as Asia’s Big Apple, with its huge shopping complexes, glittery retail ads, and the nonstop flow of people from every direction.
After escorting guests to the ferry station, Ayah tended to take the longer but more scenic routes on her way back to the guesthouse. She would either go through Kowloon Park, taking the time to feed the ducks and swans and sometimes even spinning around several times before she attempted to make her way out of its waist-high hedge maze. Other times, she’d take the overhead walkway that intersected Canton Road, just so she could watch the fancy tourist ships and old school fishermen’s boats cross the bay. And when she was in the mood to be a tourist, she’d take the most crowded path of all, walking down the Avenue of Stars while munching on fried squid.
But now, she did none of those.
Now, she went directly to the nearest subway station, held on to a vacant pole, and took out her phone. In a few clicks, she had what she needed.
The most recent photo of Luuk, a bare-chested selfie that she had managed to convince him to take for her birthday last month. She had been begging him for the longest time to send her another photo. It was only fair when he always managed to convince her to send him a lot of her new ones. But for her birthday, she had laid on the guilt pretty thickly.
The memory of how he had choked in surprise and growled in frustration when she requested that he be bare-chested made Ayah smile now, cheering her up enough to forget the unfortunate incident at the ferry station.
“Take off my fucking shirt? What am I? A gigolo?” he had snarled during their Skype call that day.
“Mm...yup. My gigolo.”
There was a pause and then-—“You always know what to say to disarm me.” That time, his voice was a mixture of exasperation and irritation.
“What I know is that I always like looking at you. It makes me miss you a little less.”
Another pause. “Just say the word, lieverd.”
She shook her head. “No. You were honest with me that first time – about your marriage and not having enough money to fly here. I don’t want you to be in debt just because I’m being selfish, missing you.”