‘I thought I’d save you the trouble of calling me over.’
Direct. Bold. I liked that in a man.
‘That’s very kind of you. And why, exactly, would I want to speak to you?’
He looked puzzled. ‘Well, last night…’
‘Sam, in that dress I’d have thought I was a hooker. I’m not going to fire you just because I decided to dress like an extra in a blue movie. It was my mistake, not yours. I’m just insulted that I got no offers.’
He paused, then flashed his pearlies. He could be an ambassador for Colgate.
‘Now, come back over and join the others and help me convince them that I’m not about to cast them all into the nearest dole office.’
He visibly relaxed and followed me to the waiting crowd. I poured everyone drinks and gave a toast.
‘To “Asia”.’
‘To “Asia”,’ they repeated, looking relieved and happy.
I caught Sam’s eye and he winked.
Oh, shit, I thought, feeling a sensation that had been absent for a long time.
Hello, danger.
My first two weeks at ‘Asia’ were focused on understanding the operation, building rapport with the regulars and gaining the trust and respect of the staff. It was a fairly straightforward operation to manage. There was little trouble, the club filled to capacity most nights and after my initial clear-out, I had no further problems with the staff.
I recruited two new bouncers – a mad Australian surfer called Zeek, and Kenny, an unusually tall, kick-boxing, Hong Kong national. I stationed them on the door with Sam and Hugh, a cheeky Welshman who had a never-ending stream of really bad jokes.
I moved Derek and Jamie, two overdeveloped, bodybuilding Scotsmen inside, warning them that if they so much as swapped telephone numbers with a paying customer, I’d cut their wages for a month. That did the trick.
My only problem was finding somewhere to live. The rentals in Hong Kong were astronomical. It cost the same there to rent a claustrophobic one bedroom flat as it would to rent an estate with deer and a babbling brook at home. Even though the hotel was giving me a generous housing allowance, I still couldn’t find anything that I liked.
I contemplated the problem one night as I stood at the door, watching the nightly exhibits in the ‘Asia’ catwalk enter.
Sam interrupted my thoughts. ‘So, Carly, when are we going out?’
I wondered if I’d misheard him. ‘Pardon?’
He repeated his question and I immediately grasped what he was asking. This presented me with a dilemma. You see, there is an unwritten law in man-management called the DEFTS code – Don’t Ever Fuck The Staff. I had always adhered religiously to it, having seen too many casualties who had broken the code and ended up unemployed, lonely and bitter. It just wasn’t worth it. As a result, although I tried to form congenial working relationships with my employees, I always kept my personal life completely separate.
‘We’re not going out, Sam. Why don’t you concentrate on the door instead of on your love life?’
Succinct. Detached. But suddenly I was feeling ambidextrous. On the one hand, I was impressed with his boldness, the concept of a man – especially one who looked like Sam – taking charge was reducing me to a submissive, drooling teenager. On the other hand, I was outraged at his audacity. How dare he assume that his boss would just jump when he deigned to snap his fingers? Trouble was, I couldn’t remember if I was left or right handed.
It didn’t matter. My rebuff had zero effect.
‘Look, Carly. We’re going out together. It’s inevitable. Just tell me when.’
‘Forget it, Sam. It isn’t going to happen.’
He was obviously a guy who bore up well under rejection. He bombarded me all night; every time I passed him, he repeated the question. What aspect of ‘No’ didn’t he understand? I acted irritated, aloof and disdainful, but inside I was melting like lava. He was cute, funny, cheeky and bold, but he was also smart and quick-witted. I’d observed him over the previous nights, handling every potential situation with maturity, firmness and calm. He had the people management skills of a diplomat. If I ever developed musical talent and became a globe-trotting rock star, then this was the guy that I’d want to watch my back.
But no. A relationship with a bouncer was out of the question. Absolutely not. No way. Never.
At the end of the evening, desperate to put some space between us before I weakened and did something I’d regret, I achieved a new world record for the clear-out, clear-up and clean-down of a nightclub. I was back upstairs in my hotel room before the last drunken reveller had reached the end of the street.
I undressed and climbed into bed without even removing my make-up. I put a pillow over my head and groaned. God, this was like being a compulsive eater in a sweet shop, but knowing that if I took so much as a bite of a Yorkie, I’d explode into a big, fat trucker.
I tossed and turned; my body severely pissed off with my brain for rejecting an opportunity to rediscover my sex drive.
I gave up trying to sleep at 6 a.m. and dialled Kate’s number in the UK. The international call would cost about a week’s wages, but it was worth it. She answered sleepily.
‘Kate, what are you doing in bed? It’s only 10 p.m..’
‘Cooper, come and take me away from all this. This baby has turned me in to a physical wreck.’
Kate’s life had changed dramatically too – when I was in Shanghai, she’d had the opportunity to move to London and share a flat with Carol. She’d snatched the chance, and almost as soon as she arrived, she met Bruce, when he popped in for a trim. Within four months, they had a quickie, low-key wedding, and six months later, Cameron was born. At least I couldn’t be accused of being the only spontaneous one in our group – Kate had moved to
