“That’s blood,” Donna squealed.
I dipped my finger into the generous drop of liquid spilled on the white counter top then tasted it. “Nope. It’s strawberry jam watered down.”
“That’s disgusting, Lester. How could you have known what it was?”
“I am baking strawberry tart right now. Of course I knew what it was,” I exclaimed.
”Still. Eeewww.”
I smiled at my younger sister, she had always been such a baby. “Well, are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
“Absolutely.”
I shrugged. It was her problem, but I must admit I was angry too. I put together the stuff I needed to make a quick tiramisu: store bought sponge cake, milk, cheese, cream, sugar, eggs, cornstarch, coffee liquor and cocoa powder. For good measure, I cracked open a dozen blue barbiturate capsules from mom’s epilepsy prescription (she wouldn’t miss them) into the milk. After mixing the cream and custard, I sliced the sponge cake in half, sprinkle two generous tablespoons of coffee liquor atop the bottom slice which I had placed in a glass bowl. Then I poured in half of the cream mixture, pile the second slice on top before adding another layer of cream. Finally I dusted the top surface with cocoa powder. Perfect.
“Don’t forget to bring home the bowl,” I said to my sister.
She blew me a kiss before picking up the plastic wrapped dish. As I watched her put it on the passenger seat, half of me hoped that she would change her mind.
But then, she had nothing to lose. When her manager’s wife had learned that her husband was having an affair she had gone to the office to ask around. Donna, being a loyal assistant, assured her that nothing was going on, so she went to the next person she could think of, Ronnie the senior administrator. Problem was, this Ronnie was the woman her husband was cheating with. Maybe it was because Mrs Fong was the main investor of the firm, and Ronnie was afraid that she would eventually find out who the other woman was, so she accused Donna of being the culprit. On top of that, she even managed to persuade the Human Resource clerk to back her up. Naturally my sister lost her job and her credibility. Every other firm that she had applied to since had rejected her. Nobody in Sarawak wanted to hire her.
Thankfully we had a cousin in Australia who helped her find a job there. She accepted it, although it meant that she couldn’t live with mom and me anymore. She finally broke down last night, when the HR clerk called her and told her to turn up that Saturday afternoon after the firm closed else she would not be allowed to cash her severance check. It was going to be another tirade of insults and threats from Mrs Fong I guess, about how useless she was, what a slut she was and that she would be destroyed if she ever returns to Kuching. She had done that to Donna in two other similar meetings.
For the next three house, I looked out the window or front door every five or ten minutes, worried sick. Maybe she was caught, maybe they called the police. One after another the maybes, what ifs or perhaps ran through my mind with the consistency of a pendulum keeping time.
I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw her car drive in. She climbed out then leaned back in to take out the empty bowl which she then held up on the palm of one hand above her head. She went straight to the kitchen to wash the bowl and I followed her.
As she squeezed out soap onto a green sponge I asked, “Well what happened?”
“As we expected, both Mr and Mrs were there, obviously to see me off and to heap further insults on me. And as a bonus, Mr HR, Ms Ronnie Slut and Ms Suzy Liar were also there.
“How did you persuade them to eat the cake?”
“I didn’t. I just put it on the coffee trolley before caterer rolled it into the meeting room.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No. Everyone’s gone back remember. Neither did the café boy. He was inside clearing a space for the trolley.”
“They all took some?” I asked, incredulous.
Donna put the washed bowl on the drying tray by the side before turning to face me. “Yep. Suzy was very nice. She cut out a piece for everyone, including her but not me.” She giggled. “It was perfect. I was so worried when I saw so many people but there was no problem at all.”
I sat down at the dining table and poured myself a cup of lukewarm coffee, relieved that it was over.
With a sidelong look that accentuated the glint of mischief in her eyes, she asked, “Do you want to see the pictures?”
Pictures? I raised an eyebrow, as she fished out a digital camera from her purse. She switched it On and pulled up the pictures on the screen. She giggled picture after picture while I stared, shocked. She had stripped them naked. In one photo, two women lay on their side, each with their hand over Mr Fong’s genitals. In another the HR clerk had her nose up her manager’s ass. I must admit she was very creative, changing their positions to 69s, locomotives, sportswear jumps etc. When she reached the last photograph of Mr. Fong fondling his wife’s and mistress’s breast she broke out into a hysterical laugh.
Rubbing the tears from her eyes, she said, “Do you know what the best part is? I left the door open!!”
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