White Tiger

designers had their shopfronts. We had a ball. Leo crossed his arms and glowered, playing the ugly bodyguard, and the girls in the shops fawned all over me.
    Leo gave me surreptitious signals: thumbs up; thumbs down; the very slightest nod or shake of his head. When he finally agreed to a dress that he thought was suitable we had a ferociously whispered argument; the dress cost nearly a month’s salary. Eventually Leo called Mr Chen and asked him to pay for it.
    Mr Chen agreed, but Leo had to promise to give the black shirts back.
    We threw the stuff into the boot of the Mercedes. As Leo opened the door for me, I stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’
    He could have been blushing, but it was impossible to tell.
    On the night of the concert I spent a lot of time in my room preparing after I returned from thehair salon. I wanted to be sure that I looked good enough.
    I studied myself in the mirror. I hardly recognised the Emma I saw. I was slim and toned from the martial arts training. The gold lamé dress fell to the floor in a slinky shimmer. I vowed to give Leo a hard time about stereotypes later; I would never have chosen such an extravagant dress for myself, but it was perfect. Surprisingly it didn’t look too bad on me, but the shoelace straps were going to drive me completely nuts all evening; they were slightly too long and were sure to fall off my shoulders constantly.
    I pulled on the high-heeled gold sandals. I would never have chosen these either—they would be painfully uncomfortable—but they complemented the dress perfectly. Fortunately the training had improved my balance so I wasn’t at risk of breaking an ankle by falling off the heels.
    I shook out my shoulders and turned. Definitely good enough to be seen on the arm of a god.
    I grabbed the matching small gold purse, which was far too tiny to put anything useful in. As I went out the door of my room, I wondered how I would ever remove the thick caking of hairspray from my hair, which was all piled on top of my head.
    Mr Chen, Leo and Simone were waiting for me in the living room. Mr Chen wore a black tuxedo, his hands in his trouser pockets, his broad shoulders accentuated by the cut of the suit.
    When I entered the room they all fell completely silent.
    I raised my arms. ‘What?’
    Simone came to me, her little eyes shining. ‘You look really beautiful, Emma.’
    I knelt and put my arm around her waist. ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ I moved closer to whisper in her ear, ‘Ican’t kiss you, I’ll get lipstick all over you.’ She giggled.
    I rose and grinned at Leo and Mr Chen, who were both still watching me. ‘Snap out of it, guys, we’d better move. This thing starts soon.’
    I took Leo’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Thanks for giving me the help.’
    ‘I think I did too good a job,’ he whispered back.
    Mr Chen stood like a statue next to the front door. I went to him and waved my hand in front of his face. ‘Earth to god.’
    Simone giggled behind me.
    He smiled down at me and his eyes wrinkled up. ‘Let’s go.’
    Mr Chen drove us to Wan Chai. I sat in the front and grumbled all the way down the hill.
    ‘This dress is far too tight,’ I said. ‘I can’t even do a low kick. How am I supposed to defend myself?’
    ‘You think we’ll be attacked?’ Mr Chen said without looking away from the road.
    ‘I just don’t like feeling so helpless.’
    ‘You’re with me. You’re safe.’
    I sighed. ‘You’re right.’
    He smiled slightly at the road. I pushed my feet further into the strappy high-heeled sandals. My feet would kill me later, I should never have let Leo talk me into anything so completely frivolous.
    ‘I look ridiculous.’
    ‘I think you look just fine.’
    That compliment silenced me.
    He parked the Mercedes under the Convention Centre, and we walked out to the edge of Hong Kong Harbour. The Convention Centre hovered above us like a creature about to take flight. Music floated from inside. The dark water hissed against the concrete breakwater.
    A pair of elderly Chinese men in dirty grey shorts and singlets sat at the edge of the water. They talked loudly in Cantonese and smoked as they held their fishing lines.
    ‘I’d rather be with them,’ Mr Chen said.
    ‘Just your age.’
    He smiled down at me, his eyes very dark. ‘You’re quite correct.’ He turned back to watch the water.
    Hong Kong Harbour was always busy with traffic. Ferries lumbered past, and tugboats towed barges