News of the death of the bag designer Kate Spade has hit Amanda hard.
“I so loved her bags,” she said the other day, as she morosely stabbed at a chocolate cake at the Ritz-Carlton. “Maybe not so much after she sold the company, but the earlier editions were so cute!”
“And then you discovered Fendi,” Saffy pointed out. “Or rather, your paycheck did.”
Amanda nodded, her large eyes blinking sorrowfully. “Yes, that’s true, but you never forget your first bags.”
Just then Sharyn arrived in a flurry of G2000 and Sheng Siong-chic. “So bad, why you must talk about my eye bags ah?” she puffed. “I only sleep tree hours last night, you know!”
It turns out that Sharyn’s new neighbour is a karaoke fiend of the Teochew variety. “But I thought you liked karaoke neighbours?” Amanda pointed out.
“Yah, I do, but not Teochew. I like disco like Donna Summer and Bee Gee! And hor, if you are tone deaf, don’t sing so loud and so late can?”
“You should complain!” Saffy urged.
“I scared. The mudder look very fierce and the brudder got a lot of tattoo! So, cannot sleep lor. Dat’s why I got bag under my eye!”
“Well, we weren’t talking about you,” Amanda said. “Did you hear Kate Spade died?”
Sharyn shook her head, sighing as she poured some tea. “Yah. So sad hor? The news say is depression, right?”
“Manic depression,” Amanda said, currently the world’s leading expert on the subject.
“Yah, you see lah! This is why I neh-ber envy udder people. Outside look good and glam-eh-rous, but inside the house, damn suay! Mariah Carey, dey all ah, all got problem one! People tink got money got no ploh-blem! Dat’s why I tell my chil-ren, whether they look happy or not, you dohn care about udder people. You just be happy with what you have. Right or not, Saffy?”
Sharyn dug her sharp elbow into Saffy’s ribs. Saffy’s bosom inflated like a first-rate soufflé at a three-Michelin starred restaurant. “
First of all… oww! And secondly, totally true. Although I still wouldn’t mind being Meghan Markle for a few weeks.”
“You’d be worrying about the father the entire time, though,” said Amanda, also the world’s leading authority on the family dynamics of the Duchess of Sussex.“
And all the pretty cha-bo in the palace who want to sleep with Harry leh?” Sharyn added with a dark edge to her voice. She had recently intercepted an uncomfortably intimate text message from his secretary on her husband’s phone.
The next morning, she marched down to the office, pulled the woman to one side and whispered into her ear a few choice phrases she’d overheard her gangster, Teochew-karaoke-loving neighbours scream at each other at three in the morning.
Apparently, the woman’s face turned a shade of white that SK-II would have paid a pretty fortune to patent. By the end of the day, she’d applied to be transferred to the office’s Kembangan branch. And that was the end of that.
Later that night at dinner, Saffy said it must have been so traumatic for Sharyn to discover her husband’s infidelity that way.
“The upside is that he and the woman were still just flirting and nothing had happened yet.”
“No offence to Sharyn, but I’m not sure why anyone would want to have an affair with her husband!” Amanda said. “Every time I see him, I itch to give him Dr Sandra Lee’s phone number. That cyst in the middle of his forehead is just so distracting!”
“Sharyn doesn’t seem to mind and I’ve always thought they were happy enough,” I offered.“Which just goes to prove Sharyn’s point,” Saffy went on.
“You just never know what’s going on in other people’s lives! I mean, look at Kate Spade. Such a glamorous life with all those beautiful homes and celebrity friends and all along, she was just so sad inside!”
“I used to think that people who said ‘Money can’t buy you happiness’ just didn’t know where to shop,” Amanda observed, “but lately, I’ve started to think they were right all along.”
Silence descended over the dining table. “Although,” Saffy said eventually, “I’m thinking Amal Clooney has a pretty good life. I don’t think George is the straying type.”
“He could be really lousy in bed?” Amanda suggested.
Saffy pouted as she gave the matter of George Clooney’s sexual prowess some thought. “No,” she said eventually. “I don’t think so. He looks like the kind of guy who would know exactly where all the buttons on a woman’s body are located.”
Amanda said she needed to lie down.
This story first appeared in 8 DAYS issue #1444 (Jun 21, 2018).
Photo: TPG News/Click Photos