Chapter 6: Joyla relaxing
Joyla sat in Deli and Wine in the foyer of Hong Kong’s City Hall, the opera preview behind her, a glass of New Zealand Marlborough sauvignon blanc and a plate of steamed prawns in garlic in front of her. Rex sat across from her, his short and tousled hair contrasting with the ice blue of his eyes, closer to a Siberian Husky’s than human eyes had any right to be. But human he was, specifically a male human and even more specifically, a male human who was very interested in Joyla as a female human.
This was more unusual than it should have been. Since relocating to a floating residency between Guangzhou and Hong Kong enabled by the Express Rail Link that had just been completed after turmoil and arrests, Joyla had been boldly propositioned and subtly flirted with by many individuals, but few of them born of man and woman. In some cases, she wasn’t clear that they had been born at all, by any definition of the term that she could think of. She had accepted one or two invitations, enjoyed herself and still dallied occasionally with one particularly talented huxian. In human form, it was exotic with reddish hair, pointed ears and Chinese eyes, while in its more natural form, its fur was lovely to the touch. All in all, a sensual delight.
But Rex was something more tangible than an immortal fox spirit, something altogether less mercurial. Her quick Google had found that he was the second son of a hereditary peer of the British House of Lords, educated at the London School of Political Science and Economics — some amalgam of global politics and languages — and served in the British military in some alphabet organization or other. He ran a logistics company out of Hong Kong which didn’t seem to fit the profile but ends must be met.
“Interesting take on Chinese opera. I’ve seen a couple, but it had never connected so viscerally for me. The scenes in the bunker, the rapped instead of sung lyrics, the canary-in-the-coal-mine imagery: they spoke to me, but surely these are imprudent choices for a Hong Kong audience?”
Joyla hadn’t been sure herself what the reaction would be. Thankfully, the preview audience had been very appreciative.
“This company has a history of adaptations of classical Chinese works, similar to the west’s experience of Shakespearean modernizations such as Fienne’s Coriolanus.”
“Funny you should mention Coriolanus; I know a couple of people who consulted on that film to ensure the military aspects were sound. But I see your point; you have an educated and loyal audience.”
“Not me, but the company. I’m just a hired gun. They needed something different, and someone I know recommended me. They flew me out, we spent a couple of days together talking aesthetics and art history, sketching wild ideas, ancient rites and eating wasabi peas. Now, months later, it’s become what you see. I’m practically redundant.”
That was a little simpler than the actuality. A patron in Singapura, someone Kaa had introduced her to decades ago, knew Zau, who knew the mysterious backer of Opera Hong Kong. Apparently a variety of chiromantic techniques had been applied, and she’d been declared auspicious. And she had been enfolded, almost immured in Zau’s social and private worlds since, or at least a subset of them. She’d become suspicious, in fact, that the opera was a sinecure, and that the essence of her new life hadn’t been fully revealed to her.
She also suspected Zau’s manipulation behind Rex showing up in her life. A friend of a friend of a friend thought that they would be interesting together, and connected them. But the friend and the friend and the friend were also connected to Zau in obvious and less obvious ways, and while numbers were not Joyla’s forte, she could bite into a good two plus two as well as anyone else.
“So what’s next for someone who is still running a successful high-end bespoke dress business out of a shophouse in Tiong Bahru? Returning to Singapura? Staying on and letting whoever is running the business while you’re away keep doing it?”
The existence of the internet and its archivist Google was a blessing and a curse to the supernaturally long-lived. Thankfully, there were numerous major and minor lightning gods and demons with exceptional talents running around to smooth out the edges.
“My nenek’s shop is still home. I grew up in it as much as anywhere. But it’s time to spend another stint abroad, to refresh and reinvent myself.” And to tweak a few records, alter a few memories and return in a few years as her daughter or niece, equally talented, remarkably similar in taste and disposition. “What about you? Returning to the baronial manse any time soon?”
Two could play inquisition by Google.
“No, I’ve committed to operating in the Asian theater for five years at least.”
Joyla’s inner editor spied the choice of words: very military for a boring logistics firm. Perhaps his day job was a bit riskier than it sounded, or perhaps his predilection for being in more dangerous places had ebbed and his language hadn’t evolved yet. Combined with the cleft chin and the hint of scar tissue on the tanned skin visible at his collar however, the choice of words made Joyla a bit more attentive than she had initially been. She’d had a run in or two with spoiled children of minor British aristocracy in the past, and had originally only agreed to meet due to her suspicions about Zau’s involvement.
“I feel alive in Asia in a way I didn’t in the UK. There were several obvious paths there, but they all felt a little stifling. I preferred to take a riskier opportunity out here. It doesn’t hurt that I speak a couple of the languages, albeit poorly.”
Joyla was beginning to feel a bit more chipper. Some open time looming, a by no means uninteresting man across from her, Zau’s pot pourri of strays to play with and an apparently successful new experience under her belt as artistic director to an opera. And of course, whatever Zau might or might not have in mind for her next.
“How about we get out of here and go try your language skills on some street food?”
A wolfish grin was his only reply.
