‘Budge up, Gigi,’ I say as I shove over to make space for Mr Lee.
Gigi glances up from her drink and gives me a little smirk. ‘Sure,’ she says and shimmies about two finger widths over.
‘More.’ I move closer to her, but she holds her ground.
‘There’s an uncomfortable ridge beside me. Besides,’ she lowers her voice and leans in to whisper, ‘Mr Lee likes you. Let him cosy up to you a bit more. Maybe he’ll even kiss you.’
I wave away her words and duck my head. ‘That’s piss-fart,’ I say, feeling my cheeks heat. ‘Budge up.’
Her gaze is shrewd. ‘No.’ She knocks back the rest of the cocktail. ‘I’m not moving.’ She doesn’t bother to look at me, so my glare is wasted.
I give up, knowing she’s more stubborn than Bullhead when she’s like this. ‘What’s that instrument he’s got?’ I ask.
Ah Lang is positioning himself behind a large violin-shaped instrument. It’s taller than he is. Gigi still refuses to look.
‘It’s a double bass,’ Mr Lee says. ‘Not hugely different to a pipa – both are bowed instruments. But the sound is very different.’
The music starts. Ah Lang plucks the double bass, creating a rhythm of deep, resonant notes. He plays with his head bowed, long hair loose, swaying with the music. And then he looks up, straight at Gigi, and starts to sing.
His voice is full, deep, and raspy. Gigi turns to me in shock. ‘I had no idea he could sing.’ She watches him, enraptured. ‘What language is he singing?’
‘English,’ Mr Lee says.
‘What does the song mean?’ she asks.
Mr Lee listens. ‘It’s a song comparing his love to the deepest of oceans and highest of heavens. That he would travel to the stars to see you. It’s quite beautiful. If you like, I’ll write you the translation.’
Gigi’s eyes are shining. ‘Would you? This humble one offers you abundant gratitude for your kindness.’ She turns back to the stage, her gaze rapt on Ah Lang. He croons in that freight train voice of his, his doe-eyed gaze locked on Gigi’s.
When the song is over, he bows. Gigi seems to have forgotten her anger. Both she and I stand and clap, as do many others in the ballroom. A few women up in the mezzanine whoop their appreciation, earning a sharp stink-eye from Gigi.
I nudge her. ‘He only has eyes for you, Gigi, you know this.’
She tosses her hair, making her long tresses sheen in the light. ‘You’re right. It’s beneath a goddess to indulge in petty jealousies.’
I hide my laugh behind my hand, but needn’t have bothered. Gigi’s full attention is squarely back on Ah Lang, who is strolling over to us, hand rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks pink, and apprehension in his gaze.
She shimmies out of the booth and sashays with bold confidence towards Ah Lang. The music changes, and couples flood the dance floor, swallowing Gigi and Ah Lang in their midst.
Mr Lee turns to me. ‘Lady Jing, would you, I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—’
Brother Zhu saunters over to our table. With a smirk he says, ‘Why aren’t you spinning this gorgeous goddess on the dance floor?’
Mr Lee goes stony.
‘Well, what can I expect from a mere mortal?’ He smirks and turns to me. ‘How about it, Lady Jing? Fancy a dance?’
‘I’d rather gouge my eye out with a broken chopstick.’
‘Oh, you have spirit, my lady. How about a barter? You can ask me anything you like. I’ve been around; seen things, heard things. I will give you free access to my carefully hoarded treasure of information, for the duration of one dance. What do you say?’ He grins at me.
I weigh the offer, glancing at the dancers on the ballroom floor. They are smiling, laughing. It looks like fun.
‘How do I know what you have to say is worth my time?’ I say.
He rubs his thumb over his fingernails, as if wiping off an invisible spot. He shrugs. ‘I thought you were a better kanhoo player than that.’
Damn. I sigh. A single dance can’t hurt. And the people twirling on the dance floor look like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. Even Gigi and Ah Lang seem blissfully content, though they aren’t actually dancing. Unlike everyone else, they are simply standing there entwined as one and gazing into each other’s rotted doe eyes.
