3

This is officially my fourth week in New York, and I'm getting used to being here.

Wearing hijab is a norm in Indonesia but here in New York, especially in my office, I'm like a rare species simply because I'm the only one who wears it.

I've received multiple questions from my colleagues that sometimes I wonder if they ask because they genuinely don't know about it or simply to mock me; “Do you sleep with it”, “Do you shower with it”, and the one that got me extremely speechless was, “Do you actually have hair?”

I try to be positive and answer them with a smile eventhough sometimes I do wanna be spiteful and throw that “Of course I shower with it, I use Hijab and Shoulder”. But no, compose yourself Alya. Show them that Islam is beautiful, not condescending.

"Oh wow," I hear a gasp next to me, "You look so much better without that thing!"

I turn to her as I put another one of my friendly face, "Thank you." Is all I said then I get back to putting on my hijab. Sometimes this chiffon shawl I'm using is quite slippery that it moves hence the need to fix it at the restroom every few hours.

"Such a shame you've gotta cover up," she makes that sad puppy eyes with the pouty mouth, showing sympathy to me.

"It's okay, I'm happy to do it." That's what I've been telling myself since I last taken my hijab off.

Two weeks ago I left Cupcake headquarter with the determination of never stepping my foot there ever again. What was proposed is an insult to me as a woman, downgrading us as if we'd do anything for money.

Fifty thousand a week is a lot of money, but I'm willing to say no to that if it means keeping my integrity intact.

Miss Collins called me three days after our meeting to which I gave a no as my answer. She accepted it and thanked me for coming to her office, but at the same time reminding me of the NDA.

I continue living my life the way I've been, though at times I do imagine what it’s gonna be like if I'm indeed married to a man.

I'm twenty nine this year, obviously still single with no prospect of getting married soon. After the Arab boyfriend, I did get into two relationships afterwards but all failed because I don't think they measure up to my standard.

My grandmother told me countless of times to never be pressured with the fact I'm getting older, or that my younger brother is already married with a baby on the way. “It's better to get married later with your soulmate who checks all your list than to settle with just anyone and get divorced two years later.”

Thankfully my parents have an open mind regarding this, mainly because of what happened with the Arab guy is a big lesson learn to all of us. They'd rather I'm single but happy than to lose myself in the name of being a wife.

Most of my friends are married with kids and I can't help but to wonder, how does it feel to be one?

But then again, what my Grandmother said really makes me think twice that I'm a bit scared to dip my feet into that realm. What if it doesn't work out and I end up getting divorced after a year? What will happen if I'm already with child? It's a scary thought so I'd always stop and forget altogether about getting married.

I Go0gled about Mr Gunn right after I came home, to know what is it that he does for a living since he paid such a large sum of money to the sugar babies who pretend to be his wife.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of Gunn that came out from the search so I'm not sure which one is the cuckoo Mr Gunn. I rest my case and from there on, I don't ever indulge into finding out about him except to occasionally think what would it be like if I said yes, if it will curb my curiosity of how it feels like to be a wife. 

***

"I'm gonna be honest with you." I really am being honest with him by showing up in my work clothes as well as this turban hijab on my head, causing him to mouth a big O the moment he saw me standing in front of him.

"There's more?"

I chuckle at his subtle joke as he sips on his tea. We're both sitting at a nearby cafe for a chat I requested once he got over the shock of discovering me being a hijabis.

"I wanna know about being Scarlett."

He smirks in a teasing way, "Aha! Somebody's interested!"

"I am. But as you can see," I stop there as I wave the turban on my head, signalling religion as my stop sign to the proposal.

"You really wear that thing? Not just for fashion?"

I laugh to another comment regarding my hijab. But shake my head as to answer him, "I've been wearing this since I was nineteen."

"But you look like you're fifteen."

Have I told you how comfortable I feel with Drey despite this being our second meeting?

"Tell me," I urge him, "What it's like being a Scarlett? I take it you've dealt with lots of Scarletts in the past?"

"I do. I train all the Scarletts."

"You dooo?"

"I've been training them for years, but you would be the first one who's this short. And of course, a Muslim too if I have to point the obvious."

I nod understandingly, the way he said years means Mr Gunn has been a cuckoo for a while now. Has he never gotten his head checked? Why would he want to be with someone who has left him and never moved on? What's so special with this original Scarlett?

"Tell me about her."

"I can't," he sighs, "You need to sign a contract for that."

"I already signed an NDA."

"No, that's for us to be able to make an offer to you, to be a Scarlett to Mr Gunn. The contract I was talking about is actually agreeing to be his pretend wife, for at least three months. Only then I can tell you more, Sweetheart."

"But I can't be his pretend wife."

"Why not? I promise you he's a nice guy."

"It's just that he's a bit damaged on the head?"

He laughs at my choice of words but I continue, "Look, I'm twenty nine and I wanna be married. I wanna know how it feels like to be married. But at the same time I don't want to be married to the wrong person. And this Mr Gunn sounds like a wrong person to me."

"So what if he's the wrong one? If you can't take it anymore, then just tell him you wanna quit. At least you get to cash in a day or a week, however long you can last. A day equals five thousand, and it's double on the weekends. Who's gonna give you twenty thousand for just spending your Saturday and Sunday with that cuckoo head? Hmm? Shit, even I'm calling him cuckoo. Collin’s gonna kill me if she hears I call our client that."

I grin as he takes another sip of his tea, "He's cuckoo, right? You're agreeing with me."

"Just sign the contract so I can train you already."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's against my principle."

"Which principle are we talking about? That you're a Muslim? But you were just fine showing up with your hair two weeks ago?"

I shake my head repeatedly, "No, not that one."

"Enlighten me."

"Don't you think it's degrading to offer yourself for money? I'm not gonna sleep with a man for fifty thousand."

He laughs as if I was telling him something funny, "Ohhh you've gotta listen better, Sweetheart. Collins already told you, she can negotiate that part. You don't have to sleep with him. You just need to show up as Scarlett. Fifty thousand coming your way while your legs are tightly screwed together. I've told you, Mr Gunn is nice."

"So nice guys don't get horny?"

The laugh gets louder but he nods while flicking his index finger a couple times, agreeing to my argument.

"I promise you it will be worth your time. And I don't always promise, Sweetheart."