2018

My return to workstation from the pantry is greeted by Marcus from the Product Team who leans against the edge of my desk while conversing with my cubicle neighbour.

When he notices my arrival, he welcomes me with his utmost cheesiness, "Sofia, My saviour. My intermediaries between heaven and hell."

The sound of him placating me conceals his cunning intention.

"Yes, Marcus. How can I help?" I unwillingly surrender myself to his incoming request.

"T-Rex rejected my proposal paper, claiming it's too premature for Tranche 3 mortgage financing execution," he complains. "Is he mental or what?"

"I bet he gets that direction from Dato' Bahadin himself. It's not his call," I opine.

"Well apparently, he slays the rest of our papers too. Especially the strategy on cashless facilities," he points out.

"Okay, noted," I give a deadpan response and resume my seat. "Can't help you with that."

"Of course you can, you're a T-Rex appeaser," he advocates. "Only you can bring up his mood, I think he lacks affection. Do a lap dance on him or give him a head if you must?"

"Marcus! I'm not his call girl for crying out loud," I chastise.

"Please, your sacrifice means a lot to the Bank," he presses on.

"No, it means a lot to you," I smirk. "If you want to know why he rejected your papers, you should give him a call."

"He screens his calls and never accepts ours," he excuses.

I groan at his explanation and reluctantly dial Saint's extension and wait for his answer.

"Connor," Saint's deep voice greets from the speaker.

"Good Morning," I muster a chirpy tone. "What have you been up to?"

"Just done wanking off. What's up?" he responds sarcastically.

"Can you not be any gross–"

"Get to the point!" he cuts off.

"The Product Team asks why you kill their papers?" I ask.

"It's there blatantly written on the first page. Can't they read?" he snaps.

"Why did you write that?" I clarify my inquiry.

"If they see it from a broader perspective, they'll understand their proposal has many potential risks," Saint clarifies.

"But the Risk Team has reviewed it," I object.

"Well, the Risk Team's point of view is on operational risks, not the entirety of it," he argues back.

"Perhaps they could–"

"Please don't do favours for others and take advantage of my amiability," he chides and drops the call.

I turn to Marcus after returning the receiver, "Sorry, can't help. T-Rex turns into a dragon and incinerates me. I think your papers require risk assessment from Legal and Sharia's perspective. So, you know what to do."

"Yeah, I can hear him blaring from here," he sighs heavily and trudges away from my cubicle.

Marcus almost reaching the lift lobby when my desk phone rings, catches his attention. Saint's caller ID flashes on its screen panel, alarming me.

"Sofia," I answer, eyeing Marcus, who still anticipates Saint's call from afar.

"They're gone?" Saint checks in on the other line.

"Oh, hi babe. What's up? How's your sexy boyfriend?" I stage an act behind the receiver, deluding Marcus to think I'm having a conversation with someone else. As Marcus leaves level 6, I resume my conversation with Saint in hush tones, "Yeah, it's just Marcus. He's using me to lobby you on his product papers."

"Typical," Saint retorts dryly. "Are you driving home today or hopping on subways?"

"The latter. LRT as usual," I reply. "Why?"

"Okay, brill. Do you want to be my emergency plus one for a theatrical show this evening?" he shoots an offer. "Anita pulled out last minute over a gala dinner."

"So, that's what I am to you, an emergency backup?" I shoot back.

"Do you want or not?"

"Will Anita mind if you take me out?" I inquire.

"She doesn't mind an old hag like you," Saint teases bitterly. "You're just measly to her."

"Well, why don't you tag any of your gorgeous groupie instead of me?" I respond coldly.

"I know I'm desirable but I'm asking you out. I don't want anyone else," he tones down his cynicism after sensing my agitation. "So, are you in or out?"

"Depends on what we're watching," I negotiate.

"It's Ola Bola the Musical," he replies.

"Are you into Malaysian numbers now?" I ask, amazed.

"What's there not to like?"

"But I'm wearing baju kurung (traditional Malay dress). I don't dress for the occasion," I say fretfully.

There's a long deliberate pause on the other line made me realise that I just said something stupid.

"I've heard ridiculous excuses of getting shut down but yours is the most absurd I've ever heard. It's clearly you're not interested–"

"Wait!" I halt. "I'll go to Ola Bola with you."

"We'll leave by 6.00," he replies briskly and drops the call.

                       🌸🌺🌼🍀🌸🌺🌼🍀

One of scenes in Ola Bola the Musical footage

Overall, I enjoyed the entire theatrical production which dates back to the 80s, depicting the struggles of a national football team to go global.

I turned to Saint halfway through the show, anxiously wondered if he was able to grasp any of their dialogues or needed help with translations as they mainly spoke in Malay. But the serenity in his face suggested that he was neither bored nor entertained, he was more in a trance.

I leaned back against my seat, partially relieved and reckoned that Saint had his ways of keeping himself entertained, and that he understood the entire play as well.

"Of course I understand Malay. I grew up here, remember?" Saint declares scornfully. "And I don't take classes, I'm self-taught."

"Your effort embracing our culture is admirable but don't adapt everything you observed," I advise him. "Don't overwork like us, Malaysians. Uplift your Irish roots for once."

"Instead of lecturing me about work life balance, you should be more assertive about yourself and accept the fact that you are resplendent in baju kurung," Saint comments while rolling his cigarette in between his fingers.

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