5

I thought he'd be proud to know I've memorised all the utensils on which to use for what but he's a tough one to please because I stutter the moment he asked me to demonstrate on how to use the spoon for soup in case it's hot.

"You do it half moon crescent," he runs his spoon in the soup in front of him, "Not blowing it as if you're playing trumpet."

I giggle again and pick up my soup spoon, copying his act, "Like this?"

"Make sure your spoon is facing the other way when you dip into the soup."

I sigh, "I'd rather not eat soup in front of people my entire life if there is so many rules to follow." I'm sure he'll faint if he sees how hard I blow my instant noodle and slurp it loudly whenever I‘m eating it.

No, not eating it. GOBBLING it.

After we're done with the food etiquette class, it's the styling class next. It's a miracle no matter how many hours I've spent with him for this particular class, there will always be something new to know about Scarlett, or being a rich woman in general.

"Remember, big diamond and sparklers come out 6pm or later," he reminds me of what he taught two weeks ago, "Gold, silver, or other metals can be worn during the day. Pearls too, or beaded, acrylic, anything like that."

"Got it," I nod and jot down what he said though I still remember about this particular jewellery etiquette.

Oh yes, I would memorise whatever he teaches because he's a bit scary when I tend to forget that he has to repeat it again.

"Show me how do you sit with this dress." He rests his hands across his chest, watching me. Judging me.

I oblige and make sure the angle of my legs is correct as I put one on the other, "Hmm?"

"You didn't point the shoe down." He narrows his eyes at my Louboutin.

"Oh," I quickly do as he commented.

"Posture." He's scary alright, setting a tone that straighten me up as I sit properly with the right body posture.

"Get up, and repeat everything."

I quickly stand on my feet and walk gracefully -as how Scarlett would walk- to a corner then come back to the chair I was sitting, repeating each step as elegant as possible.

As Scarlett as possible.

"Think you've got most of it, we can finish early today."

"We can?" This is indeed one in a million for it to happen. Because he never released me this early. Especially on a weekend.

"I mean finish THIS class early. We're gonna continue with car etiquette later."

I knew it! There will always be another lesson!

***

"Why would I be hosting?" I sigh as I pour a bottle of water in a wine glass, practicing on how to be a host.

"Because Mr Gunn likes inviting people to his place."

I sigh louder, "He does?"

"Now now," he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, "Make sure you pour the wine just below the belly."

"How would I know, I'm a Muslim. We don't drink." That would be a lie, because my family does drink. I'm the only one who don't drink, because of the heavy influence of my ex-boyfriend.

My family is one of those Muslims who don't really practice Islam as our way of life but we do celebrate Eid. And yes, my sisters in particular, they do drink and have sex with their boyfriend but no, all of us don't eat pork. That's haram.

"Well you need to know, Sweetheart. Unless you wanna ask Mr Gunn to do this himself."

"But he's my employer."

He makes a knowing look as if he wants me to say it myself to get that fact cemented in my brain. Fine, got your point.

"Can't we just host halal party? Like brunch?”

"His parents drink during brunch."

"Shit. Fine, I'll suggest we host breakfast party."

"You can try."

"Don't tell me they drink during breakfast too? Seriously?"

He shrugs as he puts the glass on a nearby table and replaces a new one into his hand, wanting me to practice again.

"But why does he like to host parties anyway? Won't he be ashamed or something to show me to the world? To show them how crazy he is to still be hung over the missing wife?"

"Like I said, money surpasses everything, including treating a cuckoo person as a normal one.”

"Rich people are weird," I conclude.

"Rich people can make weird things normal."

"And nobody would complain about it." I'd love to see it myself, of how these already-rich people is treating him as a normal person despite his desperate behaviour of retaining the presence of his missing wife. Do they need to kiss his ass that bad?

***

"Her favorite cocktail is anything that has vodka in it."

We are now onto Scarlett's-favorite-thing class. So far I've gathered that she likes to eat lean, clean meal, and prefers sushi above anything else. It's irony how I hate seaweed but that's the main ingredient in sushi. Urgh, hopefully I can spin that somehow.

But this, I don't think I can spin it in any way, "I'm a Muslim. I told you I don't drink."

"But Scarlett does," he gives another one of his signature duh look.

"I can't drink."

"Then I suggest you figure it out somehow because she's a big fan of cocktails. Cosmo, sex on the beach, vodka tonic, vodka martini, anything with vodka she'd straight up take it and gulp everything while ordering for another to keep it coming."

This is getting ridiculous. First the removal of my headscarf, then the possibility of wearing skirts and dresses that are not modest at all, and now alcoholic beverages?

No. That's a big no.

"You're almost there, Sweetheart. Don't stop at this. I know you're smart. You'll figure it out." He winks as he sips on the vodka martini.

"I'm not gonna drink just to get fifty thousand a week. I've never drank before." The legal age for drinking in Indonesia is 21, so I really never had even one sip.

My then boyfriend was adamant about me not following my parents' drinking habit. For the fact they only have it occasionally. It's not like they drink five bottles a day, it's just a glass of wine during dinner.

"Then get creative. Tell him you can't drink because you're working tomorrow, or you have a stomach ache. Anything, you can do it Sweetheart. This is the last hurdle."

Because I'm meeting him in two days.