It was a day like any other day: Bright and balmy in the morning and scorching hot after lunch. Much as the day before, people passed the boutique display window in a hurry. Leslie, however, was in good spirits because the latest autumn-winter collection had just arrived. In fact some were still in the boxes, waiting for him to affix his boutique label and price on them.
A medium height Chinese lady walked into the shop and made straight for the discount rack. Leslie sighed; another bargain hunter. He stood behind her and cracked his face into a smile. “Is there anything special you are looking for, madam?”
“Yes, a black dress.”
“Most of the ones here are in size 9. But your womanly figure will look perfect in a more adult size 12.”
“No, that will not do,” she said, as she lifted and scrutinized one dress after another. “I want to look young and slim for my husband’s funeral.”
Leslie forgot to breathe as he imagined her bursting from the seams in a dress that carries his boutique label. He cleared his throat, maybe he could persuade her to try on a size 11. “But why would madam want to suffer yourself into a thin boyish dress. If you are looking for something tight, how about this sexy one here?”
The woman touched the long-sleeve, figure-hugging, short dress that Leslie held up to her. She shook her head. “No, this will be too easy.”
Now Leslie was curious. “How is it easy, madam?”
She placed both hands on the clothes rack and shook her head. “I hate my husband. Each time I cook curry for him, I wish I could pour some weed-killer in his food.” She turned to glower at him, “Do you know how much work cooking curry is? Anyway, last night I made a promise to myself. I told myself that if I lose thirty pounds, I will wear a perfect black dress to his funeral.”
The words fell out of Leslie’s mouth slowly as he tried to make sense of what she just said to him. “So, you mean that you aim to kill him if you reach your perfect weight?”
“Yes.” She looked up to explain, “You see, I love to eat and it is close to impossible for me to lose weight. I attended this seminar yesterday that taught me about achieving impossible goals. The speaker said I need a strong incentive, so I can stay motivated. I thought that, since I hate my husband so much, promising myself to kill him when I become a svelte 110 pounds is a great incentive. Don’t you agree?”
Leslie chuckled uneasily as his hands shuffled through the dresses in the small size racks. As he slung a size 8 dress over his arm, he asked, “How did you meet your husband?”
"At a party in my best-friend’s house, would you believe? We played a game where the winner gets to kiss anyone she or he likes. I won and since he was so sweet, I kissed him. I think it must have gotten to his head, because he wouldn’t leave me alone after that. He pestered me so much that I agreed to another kiss just to make him shut up. Then he went about town telling everyone about how much I like him. My parents found out and they made me agree to marry him to save face.”
“There must be something good about being married to him.”
“Yes, he stopped calling me during the day. But he still annoys me at night.” She shifted through the dresses on his arm. “There is nothing I like here.”
Leslie piled the clothes on the top of a rack and squatted over an open box on the floor. He dug and pulled out three black dresses. Again the woman shifted through them. “Ah, this one is perfect.”
Leslie heaved a sigh of relief: The black beaded lace dress was a size 8. “It is 500-ringgit, but I can give you a special discount.”
The woman smiled. She paid 200-ringgit in cash and walked out of the boutique with a spring in her step. Leslie hoped that the money he sacrificed was enough to save another man’s life. He stared at the receipt between his fingers; he had forgotten to give it to her.
New Year’s Eve was always a busy day: Customers coming in for last minute shopping because of last minute dates and women coming in for re-fittings because they ate too much over the Christmas holidays. Leslie barely had time to accept payments at his counter. He really must get extra help for the following year.
It had been an exhausting week. Last season’s clothes had been moved to another shop where they would be sold at a cheaper price and Leslie had to spend the last three nights redecorating the boutique to make it match the color trend of the new season.
That evening, when he reached home, he decided to skim through the 3 days pile of newspapers before sitting down for dinner. A few VIP wives regularly visit his shop and he could not afford not to be up-to-date about high society gossips. He scanned the obituaries; nobody he recognized. Ah, but there was a congratulatory message to the Foreign Minister for his eldest son’s engagement. He must make a note of that, because the wife might come by for new dresses.
As he scanned the social pages of the second newspaper, his eyes froze over a picture. He recognized the size-8, black dress but barely the woman wearing it. It was the same one he sold 9 months ago. Covering his face with one hand, he read the article through gaps between his fingers. It was a funeral for the son-in-law of the Deputy Minister of Tourism. The article strung out a list of big names that turned up for the funeral, but Leslie was only interested in one.
The morning light could not warm his chilled blood. Leslie shuddered as he stared down at the single page he had spread over his counter. Maybe her husband died a natural death, for wouldn’t the doctors know if he had been poisoned?
The boutique was empty. He folded the newspaper page in squares, then in trapezoids and triangles until finally a Japanese crane emerged out of the layers of geometric shapes. The ink stained his hands but he didn't care. He ran his fingers over the edges of the paper bird before stretching the wings and blowing into an opening under the belly.
The sensor bell rang as a customer stepped into the shop. The woman, now trim and trendy, stood at the open doorway. She smiled at him. Leslie smiled back automatically, stood up and strode towards her. The words came out of his mouth in rapid succession as he tried to control the quiver in his voice. “How may I help you, madam?”
“I am looking for a dress. I was here sometime back.”
“Does madam have a special preference?”
“I remember telling you what I like.”
Leslie held his breath then exhaled slowly before saying, “Oh dear, I am so sorry. My memory is very bad. Did madam leave any kind of note or special request?”
“I don’t believe so.” She looked around her.
“May I introduce madam to some of my personal favorites?” He unfolded a white silk blouse and held it up for her to see.
“No, thank you. I think I have come to the wrong boutique. There are so many in this area, I get confused.” She walked out.
Leslie’s eyes followed her to the street until she was out of sight. When he released his grip over the 600-ringgit blouse, dark ink stains showed on the crushed silk. He stared then wiped his hands clean on it.
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