Page 34 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Whatever. I don’t want to know the details. You have my approval,” she said, with a smile that aroused Tommy’s suspicions.

“Hold on. You’ve never even met him. Do you not need a background check? Or a private investigator to assess his suitability?” When she smiled sweetly at him, he stood up from the table to collect their cups. “I'm off before I get roped into any more favours.”

“Give me one minute. I need to pee. Don’t leave without me.”

Tommy huffed out a sigh and plopped back down. His sister hated being alone in public—arriving at anything first or being the last to leave. He thought about calling Mitchell but decided to wait until he was on his way. To bide his time, he pulled out theStarAsiasociety magazine with the picture of Daley and the unknown woman, something he had stored in his bag as a reminder of unfinished business, an additional responsibility he had taken on. When he saw Sammi appear, he stuffed the paper back inside, but not before she spotted him.

“I thought you said you didn’t read that vanity trash,” she said as she picked up her bag from the table. “They’re little morethan glossy comic books for grown-ups who prefer pictures over intelligently written editorials.”

“I wouldn’t buy them. But I find they help to pass the time.”

“If a customer decides to litter my shop with any more, I’ll save them for you.”

As Tommy stood and kissed her on the cheek, a thought came to him. What if the customer who left the magazine in her shop knew about Sammi and Daley’s wedding? Had someone done so out of spite?

“Let me know how you get on today,” he said, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “Now, I really need to go. Devon’s buying me lunch because he’s in a flap about something.”

After escaping and phoning Mitchell to help solve his nephew’s problem, Tommy hopped on the MTR train and headed to Central for his lunch meeting with Devon. On the short journey, he pulled out his phone and dialled Daley’s Singapore number once again. When the call went straight to voicemail, he decided to call later. Again. Maybe he would discuss the matter with Devon—just to unburden himself. Devon might provide some interesting observations and advice, even though he was hopeless at keeping secrets.

A short stroll from the Mid-Levels escalator, Pink Propaganda Brasserie was nestled among the parade of bars and restaurants along Wyndham Street. A popular venue, Thursday to Sunday evenings saw revellers spilling out across the pavement until closing time. During the day the kitchen served a range of mid-priced bar foods, and the place had become Tommy’s second home. He faltered to a stop when he spotted Devon seated at a table outside the café with someone.

Aaron, one of their occasional friends, sat with him, talking and gesticulating wildly with his hands. The three had gone to school together. Coming from an orthodox family, Aaron had suppressed his innate queerness growing up and hadbeen unassuming and aloof during their schooldays. Tommy remembered standing next to Aaron in the playground during Halloween as they’d both watched Devon, kitted out in a witch’s costume and green makeup, arms apart, on one of the lunch benches belting out a fabulous rendition ofDefying GravityfromWicked. Aaron had made his disapproval plain to those around him, but even then Tommy had been able to tell the distaste had been used to deflect attention from himself and mask his jealousy.

When Aaron’s parents had migrated to Vancouver, he and his sister had chosen to stay behind to finish their studies and look for employment in Hong Kong. Aaron’s newfound independence had allowed him to rise from the fires of suppression like a feather boa phoenix. He had quickly become a much-discussed member of the gay community. Relatively hot, financially independent and promiscuous, he had been Tommy’s main rival for a time. They had only remained lukewarm friends because Devon insisted that members of the tribe needed to have one another’s backs.

“Tommy Chow,” said Aaron, rising from his seat and blowing air kisses. “Gorgeous as ever.”

Aaron had made no bones about his desire to sleep with Tommy. Unfortunately for Aaron, Tommy found his indiscretion and pushiness—more than his flamboyance—a total turn off.

“Hello, Aaron. And how are you?”

He should have known better than to ask the question. Aaron—someone who never reciprocated by pausing to ask a person how they were—took the greeting as an opportunity to soliloquise. As they listened, Devon looked over at Tommy and shrugged an apology. Tommy caught a waiter’s attention and ordered sparkling water and a green salad. A good twenty minutes later, as Tommy tucked into his food, Aaron finallystopped speaking when his phone rang. After an elaborate eye roll, he stood and moved away to take the call in private.

“Before you say anything,” said Devon, “he was passing and saw me sitting alone. I think he decided to play the Good Sumerian and keep me company. Now quickly, let me tell you my news.”

Devon talked at length about Oscar, about the sex between them being amazing and how, after one prolonged session, he had told Oscar that they ought to set up their own OnlyFans channel, except Oscar had had no idea what that meant. Finally Devon got to the point, which had him hot and bothered.

“You know the lease on my place comes up next month?”

“Yes. And your landlord’s putting the rent up by thirty per cent, the crook.

“To make up for rent freezes over the past few years.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. It’s still extortion. Have you found a new place yet?”

“No, but—”

“I can help you with the deposit, if you want.”

“Thank you, but—”

“And help move your stuff in over a weekend, if you need me. As long as it’s not the weekend of the wedding—”

“Oscar’s asked me to move in with him.”

Mitchell took a moment to process what Devon had said and noticed his terrified expression.

“But that’s great, isn’t it?”

---