The Riot Act Read online

  As it turned out, the birthday boy was none other than the hulking resident with the faded tattoos. Sharon imagined that the ex-bouncer probably had a spread of other tattoos underneath his singlet and pyjama bottoms. But as the nonagenarian sat in his wheelchair sniffling away, it was hard to imagine him as a muscled bouncer back in his heyday.

  Once the infectious tempo of “Ja Jambo” kicked in, the audience perked up and began to bob and tap to the beat. Even the reporters standing behind shook themselves out of their lethargy and clapped along cheerily. The spunky trio turned up the heat and elicited catcalls and screeches with their provocative hip sways and butt thrusts. Two of the reporters extracted their mobile phones and began to film the performance gleefully. Everyone was charmed.

  Everyone but Sharon.

  She had thought it would be harmless fun engaging in a little uncoordinated buffoonery with an elderly trio. What she hadn’t anticipated was how spectacular the dancing grandmas turned out to be. Their routine was show-stopping! She would be the only buffoon on stage.

  Sharon’s palms were sweaty and shaking slightly when Grandma Mimi swirled towards the front row to lead her into the dance. There was a collective gasp of surprise and delight among the audience. The clapping intensified once they realised their esteemed guest had humbled herself and secretly practised just for them. Every single one of the reporters was now recording the performance on their mobiles.

  It was the most torturous and interminable sixty seconds Sharon had ever experienced. She was constantly half a beat behind the trio, thrusting her singular butt out when they had retracted theirs and lifting her arm over her head as they were swinging theirs down. Some of the old folks in the audience began to giggle. They were charmed by Sharon’s obviously intentional buffoonery. The reporters knew better and had to bite their lips to stifle their grins at Sharon’s mortification.

  As the dance came to an end, the audience rewarded them with enthusiastic applause. Sharon was slinking back to her seat when grandma Lucy grabbed her wrist. “We have to take a picture with the birthday boy.”

  Everyone in the room cracked up when Grandma Mimi threw a cushion onto Black Cougar’s lap before planting her butt on it and wrapping her arms around his neck. Grandma Lucy herded Sharon to the left of the wheelchair and goaded her to imitate Grandma Beebee, who was sticking her face near the birthday boy’s and pursing her lips as though she was about to kiss him. Sharon grimaced. But the audience had started to sing the birthday song and she felt pressured. So she pressed her face close but tilted her head so that she was looking at the audience smilingly.

  As she beamed at the audience, the birthday boy felt another huge sneeze coming. He decided to spare the lovely Grandma Mimi in his lap and so jerked his head to the left and released the wet sneeze forcefully onto Sharon’s upturned cheek.

  After a split second of stunned silence, the audience screamed, some in horror, others in hilarity. The director grabbed a box of tissues and rushed over to her rescue. Sharon took another second or two to recover from her shock. As she smiled weakly and waved off the director’s apologies, she secretly prayed that none of the reporters would upload the clip onto social media.

  Later, Sharon hid out in the director’s office toilet and scrubbed her face harshly with a hand towel the director had provided. She shuddered when she imagined the virus-laden spittle landing on her cheek. Although she wished fervently that she could drive home to scrub herself from head to toe with antibacterial shower gel, her schedule was much too packed. There was the Association of Women for Action and Research (AWARE) executive committee lunch meeting, the fund-raising event at VivoCity, the airport pickup at four in the afternoon and two funeral wakes to attend; she wouldn’t get to kick off her sensible heels until after a late dinner.

  Christina Overee, who chaired AWARE, had booked a private luncheon room at the Tung Lok Signatures restaurant at VivoCity. They had an hour before the fund-raising event began at the mezzanine. As Sharon sipped her cup of oolong tea and watched the others stream in, she felt once again that she was watching a parade of some of the most powerful women in the country. Among the most prominent were the group CEO of Singtel, who had transformed the Singapore-based telecom firm into a global behemoth; the founder and managing director of Spa Esprit Group, who had built a formidable portfolio of over 18 brands and more than a hundred food, beverage and lifestyle outlets; and a managing partner of GGV Capital, who not only made waves in the China tech scene as an astute investor but was the only one in the room who had made it to the Forbes list of 100 Most Powerful Women.

  Sharon hated to admit it, but she felt inferior. It was true that the media had trained their spotlight on her four years ago when she joined Temasek Holdings, the colossal sovereign fund with a portfolio estimated at 193 billion Singapore dollars. At the age of 31, she was its youngest ever managing director. Two years later, her star burned even brighter when she ran for election on a joint ticket with Christina Overee’s husband and entered parliament riding on the wings of the dominant political party. Temasek Holdings’ generous pay package, together with the five-figure parliamentarian remuneration, allowed her to make an instant leap into the top ten per cent of income earners in the country.

  By all measures, Sharon ought to have been proud of herself. Yet she couldn’t help but feel intimidated by this team of power ladies, most of whom sat snugly in the bandwidth comprising the top one per cent of income earners.

  Christina ordered dim sum so that the committee members could munch on the delicacies and discuss business at the same time. In her signature efficient style, she came straight to the point.

  “Later this afternoon, we have mobilised thirty-three volunteer nail techs to run the charity manicure booths at the mezzanine. The media reps will arrive at 2.30pm. Sharon will be our spokesperson for this event, as always. She’s our best chance to secure a spot on the 9pm news broadcast.”

  The ladies collectively glanced at Sharon and smiled. It was unspoken but understood that AWARE needed a member from the dominant political party to magnify its publicity efforts and to bypass bureaucratic red tape. Sharon returned the smile. Her anchored role in the committee was a security blanket she embraced like a four-year-old.

  “But we all know that charity booth runs like these, though effective for media exposure, are not going to help us reach our fund-raising targets. We have a charity dinner event at the Hilton end of January. Five thousand dollars per table. I expect generous sponsorship from all of you, ladies. Let’s go around the tables and make our pledges now.”

  Sharon prayed that the burn on her cheeks did not manifest itself in colour. She abhorred this humiliating practice of public pledges. As the running tabulation of fives, eights and even tens inched nearer, she took in a deep breath and steadied herself.

  “It will be one table for me, please.”

  Sharon hoped she had delivered her line with enough equanimity and that no one would notice the underlying shame. That all the other ladies took pains not to make eye contact with her made it all the more unbearable. Sharon felt like a four-year-old invited to a posh birthday party wearing a cheap plastic tiara with the $2 Daiso price tag intact.

  After the lunch meeting, the power ladies proceeded down to the mezzanine to meet the press. Christina initiated the official opening of the charity booths and lavished praises on the 33 nail techs who had volunteered their services. All proceeds would go to a fund that supported women and children whose husbands and fathers were incarcerated. Sharon then gave a video media interview expounding on the good work AWARE was doing to offer support services for survivors of sexual assault and domestic abuse, which was statistically significant among families of prisoners.

  “You looked so confident doing a live interview!” one of the power ladies purred at her later. “I could never do that. I would be way too self-conscious.”

  Sharon beamed. She knew for a fact that she looked good on camera. Her angular jawline and craggy cheekb
ones, which she used to detest while growing up, were the very features that lent her an air of aristocracy and refinement on film. Years on the debate team in secondary school and junior college had put on her an armour of confidence. The cumulative accolade came when she became one of only three Asian undergraduates in the history of Yale to win the title of Best Debater at the tournaments. Her debating style had been variously described as masterful, fiery and bloodthirsty.

  “And I must say your shoes are exquisite!” the same lady continued. “Are those Manolo Blahnik?”

  Sharon bit her lip. She had bought this pair of Manolos after her second AWARE meeting, when she realised that none of the shoes she owned made the cut. She was hoping that no one would comment on them so she could go on pretending they were one of several pairs from her collection. Now she would have to go and splurge on another pair, or more.

  The charity run looked to be a success. Christina had planted a team of her own staff to join in the queue whenever it fell below a headcount of ten. It had long been observed that Singaporeans placed their trust in queues according to their lengths. The longer the queue, the more ardent they were to join in and spend. Apparently, the same principle applied to donations and charity.

  At three o’clock, Christina collected Sharon as they had earlier arranged and headed for the car park. She passed Sharon a garment bag containing a freshly-pressed set of clothes before heading back to the mezzanine event. Both their husbands were flying in at four and Christina had enlisted Sharon’s help to pass her husband a change of clothes so that Elvis Overee could rush directly to his next meeting. As the incumbent Minister for Foreign Affairs, the man ran an extremely tight schedule. Sharon’s husband was on Elvis’ payroll as his trusted personal assistant.

  On the drive to the airport, Sharon glanced at the garment bag on the passenger seat and chuckled as the thought crossed her mind that she must be the most overpaid errand girl on the island. But she did not mind. She would not be where she was now without the Overees.

  Sharon had first met Christina Overee when she returned from Yale to serve her scholarship bond at the Economic Development Board. The latter was prominent in the organisation for being the only woman among the senior directors. Sharon immediately identified Christina as a potential mentor, someone who had miraculously broken through the glass ceiling and could show her the way.

  Sharon had been acutely aware of the chasm; Christina was too far up the hierarchy to even take notice of her. So Sharon worked hard to make herself stand out. Over the first few years, she aggressively sought out major assignments that required her to make presentations to the senior directors. If there was a cross-divisional working committee that reported directly to Christina, Sharon elbowed her way in. She did not allow a single month to go by without her name appearing in a report Christina was reading or a meeting where Christina could see her make presentations.

  Despite her best efforts, nothing came out of them; Christina Overee did not appear to be fond of her. The two women had very little in common. While Christina was as charming as a Vanda Miss Joaquim, Sharon was as bleak and spiky as a beavertail cactus. Yet Sharon bore no grudges. As an endorser of the power hierarchy, Sharon acknowledged that Christina, being higher up on the ladder of authority, did not need to pay attention to her—it was up to Sharon to win Christina over.

  And she eventually did, although it was under entirely fortuitous circumstances.

  One Sunday afternoon, Mrs Shi, Sharon’s mother, invited her friends from her church over for lunch. Seated at the same table, Sharon did not pretend to be civil. She ignored the guests and scrolled through the newsfeed on her tablet. But she pricked up her ears when she heard the ladies mention AWARE. Apparently, their church leaders strongly disapproved of the organisation’s liberal approach to alternative sexuality, and were of the opinion that its policies and programmes encouraged acceptance of deviant sexual lifestyles among the public. Christina’s name was mentioned as a prominent member of the enemy camp.

  After the guests left, Sharon pried details from her mother. She was shocked to learn that the church was engineering a stealthy takeover bid. Mrs Shi was among the many church members who had obeyed instructions from the church leaders to sign up for membership with AWARE over the last two months. It was their plan to turn up unannounced at the impending annual general meeting, vote their own church members into the executive committee and wrestle power from the old guard.

  Christina was curious when Sharon requested a private lunch with her the next day. She became solemn as Sharon revealed what she learnt. The AGM was in less than a week. She would have to move fast.

  Sharon made it clear that Christina had her support. She was, however, stumped when Christina wanted her to contact her circle of friends, urge them to apply for AWARE membership and to turn up for the AGM in support of the old guard. The truth was that Sharon did not have many friends, but she kept that to herself.

  Despite the forewarning, Christina and her team were caught off-guard by the robust turnout of the hostile newcomers. The old guard lost six out of the 11 seats in the executive committee. The presidency went to a Josie Thio, an academic who sat on the church executive committee.

  Christina was furious. Together with what remained of her team, she set about organising an extraordinary general meeting the following month. The intervening weeks saw aggressive recruitment efforts by both the old guard and the newly-elected executive committee. By the time the EGM swung around, membership in AWARE had ballooned tenfold. Accusations and arguments flew during the six-hour session when Christina and her supporters pushed for a vote of no confidence. They pointed out the impropriety of asserting conservative Christian values by the new executive committee in a secular organisation such as AWARE and urged supporters to call out Josie Thio’s power grab for what it was—a hostile takeover by the church. Eventually, Thio’s team admitted defeat and handed the reins back to the old guard.

  Once victory had been secured, Christina made strategic moves to consolidate her army. She roped in Sharon to serve as an executive member of AWARE and made it clear at the Economic Development Board that she had taken Sharon under her wing. That was the pass Sharon needed to squeeze through the crack in the glass ceiling.

  Sharon was ecstatic. She knew that winning Christina’s trust was pivotal in her ambition to cross over to the top echelon in the civil service. What she did not anticipate was the bonus that came attached to it—Christina’s husband.

  If Christina was a power player in the Economic Development Board, Elvis Overee was a power broker in the national arena. He was, after all, a cabinet minister and held the foreign affairs portfolio. Elvis was in his early fifties and exuded an intelligent and confident charm. He seemed to be genuinely fond of Sharon and treated her like the daughter he never had. Elvis and Christina Overee had no children.

  Over the next few months, the Overees included Sharon in their social engagements. The intention was to allow Sharon to tap into their network of friends and contacts in high places. Sharon was thrilled to suddenly be propelled into an elite social circle. She found herself lunching with CEOs of financial and investment institutions who made decisions that moved millions of dollars across accounts. Her ambition was stoked.

  When Elvis eventually invited her to join his political party, Sharon was taken aback. He explained that the elections were coming up and the party needed new blood. There was a dire lack of representation of young professional women in the line-up, which made her the perfect candidate. Despite his insistent persuasion, Sharon was hesitant.

  “Tell me, what is holding you back?”

  Sharon explained that she was not keen to be under the constant scrutiny of the media.

  “None of us are, except perhaps a handful of egomaniacs,” conceded Elvis. “That is why we are the luckiest politicians among democracies worldwide. Think about it—who owns the media in our country?”

  Sharon could not argue with that. Not only did Elvis�
�� political party dominate parliament by taking up 84 out of 87 seats, the party had, over the years, held tight control over media regulations. The cosmopolitan city-state of five million was served by a single media conglomerate with strong ties to the dominant political party. Seventy per cent of the population read the same newspaper every day.

  “But I have no political background and zero grassroots support. I am a complete stranger to the electorate.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” Elvis laughed. “I will guarantee you passage into parliament. You will run for election under my team.”

  Sharon could not argue with that either. The country had pioneered an election system that was unique among democracies worldwide. Candidates representing different constituencies could team up and run for election on a collective ticket. An established cabinet minister like Elvis Overee could easily carry two to three new political candidates on his back and ferry them into parliament safely.

  When Sharon continued to be hesitant, Elvis made an appeal. “I’ll be honest. I need you on my team. There is politics within politics. Among the cabinet ministers there are factions. During the last election in 2006, my arch nemesis, whom I shall not name, tried to bring in a very strong candidate. But he was overconfident. He placed that candidate to run in a single member constituency, and the poor fellow suffered a humiliating defeat by the opposition. This time round, he will piggyback this candidate in on his team ticket. It’s a guaranteed win. I am sure you know who I am talking about, yes?’

  Sharon nodded; she knew whom Elvis was referring to. Dr Gimme Lao had shot to instant fame during the national SARS crisis back in 2003 as both the doctor who identified the first carrier and the task force leader who effectively traced and identified all cases in the country, thereby putting an end to the pandemic that could have annihilated the entire population. He was touted as the star candidate of 2006. So it came as a shock when he lost the election to an opposition candidate.