Queen of Love

“That’s not the only thing you’re expanding.” Wendy picked up her phone and shook the darkened screen in Genevieve’s direction. “The Singapore Starlet was having a slow blog day and shared a very interesting photo of you with a Japanese… man.”

Genevieve knew better than to feed into Wendy’s sense of self-importance, yet how else was she supposed to respond than with shock? “Excuse me?” she whispered. “The Starlet?”

“Oh, yeah. Honestly, I thought you had an arrangement with The Starlet. You never show up in the tabloids. Like, aren’t you off-limits or something? I’ve always meant to ask how much you pay the Chinese tabloids to stay out of your business because my girlfriend and I could really use that, but I always assumed it was some stupid amount I won’t bother with. Sometimes all exposure is good exposure, you know?”

Genevieve was already bringing up the website on her own phone. “Yes. Sure.” Yeah, right. Wendy thrived on the attention the tabloids, both English and Chinese, gave her. It was her biggest way of telling her conservative parents to go screw themselves (but here was her checking account for her share of the trusts, of course.) Then again, Genevieve didn’t blame her. The Ahns had tried to arrange no fewer than five marriages to men over double Wendy’s age. Nothing told prospective suitors they didn’t want her money that much quite like pictures of her topless on nude beaches with a hot popstar clutching to her body like they were on a Star Wars poster.

“So who is this mysterious ‘guy,’ Gen? When did you start catching for the other team? You were not at the top of my list of big ol’ lesbos who would finally give in to family pressure. ’Cause, you know, you have no family.”

Genevieve quickly found the photo. How could she avoid it, when it was right there on the front page of The Starlet’s equivalent of Page Six? Shit. Right there, in front of the entrance to a Shibuya hotel, was Genevieve leaning in for the kiss Aya offered her after they walked from the café. According to the short article… The picture had been taken by a Singaporean businessman who didn’t realize Genevieve was in the shot until going through the trip photos with friends. Everyone was immediately abuzz, because not only was Genevieve’s mysterious date Japanese, but a man! While The Starlet carefully danced around Genevieve’s sexuality, anyone who knew her well enough to recognize her knew she was not the marrying kind.

Genevieve’s head snapped up as she glared at Wendy. “This is clearly a woman.”

“Oh, I know that. Everyone who’s queer knows that’s your run-of-the-mill lang poh. Pfft. The tabloids are damn dumb sometimes.”

Hadn’t Aya joked about something along those lines, too? Something about the doorman probably thinking she was a man? I don’t know how. She has a feminine face, and her clothes are very womanly! Sure, Aya wore business suits and cut her hair short, but she was easy to pick out among the men around her!

“Could be worse.” Wendy sipped her drink. “At least they think your new girlfriend is a man. By the way…” The shimmy of those shoulders almost made Genevieve see red. “Who is she, huh? Nobody I recognize from the who’s-who of Japanese pengkid, but oooh, she’s a dish, ain’t she? Almost makes me thirsty for a butch of my own.”

”Isn’t that what your girlfriend used to be before you got your hands on her?”

Wendy took that snippy comment in stride. Thank God, too, because Genevieve hadn’t meant to say that out loud while she panicked. “You know I like femmes, Gen.”

When the waitress returned, Genevieve collected herself long enough to ask for the rest of her cake to go. While it was boxed up and presented in a pleasant bag with handles, Genevieve paced before the chaise lounge, the fountain spray misting her judgment.

“Seriously, though. Who is she?” Wendy indulged in a long sip of her white mocha. “Don’t tell me she’s your real estate agent. That’s so cliché now. Almost as bad as chauffer or bodyguard.”

Genevieve’s phone almost slipped from her hand. She stared at Wendy, wide-eyed and white-faced. “How did you know?”

Mocha choked Wendy’s throat. “What! I was joking!” She coughed into her napkin. “Aiya, you’re dating your real estate agent? Hoo! This is amazing!”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?” Genevieve finally found the number for her publicist, buried deep beneath her chain of nudes and erotic goodnight notes with Aya. How am I supposed to tell her about this? Maybe she was overthinking this. Aya wasn’t recognizable in the photo. Genevieve’s face was the one on full display. The article even said they attempted to identify the mysterious man and came up empty. “It’s a new relationship. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Honey, you’re one of the richest bitches in Singapore. How you scare off so many girlfriends, I have no idea. You make me feel normal in my fucked-up relationship.”

Genevieve didn’t have time to consider Wendy’s comment. Because when Wendy opens up like that, you should take notice, and take notes. One never knew when Genevieve could use some information against her. If necessary.

(It was always necessary.)

“Yes, hello? This is Genevieve Liu. Thanks for answering.” Genevieve picked up her things, brushed by Wendy, and headed for La Costa’s VIP exit. This was not the time to be spotted by the everyday denizens of her city-state’s populace. Even if she risked being recognized by them, she was more likely to lose face by a couple quick snapshots sent off to The Starlet. After all, her mug was now fair game.