In Malaysia

In Malaysia

Julie Green stood at the entranceway of the Palace of the Golden Horses in awe, her head craning backwards to see the full 8 storeys towering above her. She breathed in the moist, Malaysian air, a wall of humidity surrounding her entire being; invading every particle of flesh and clothing. Slowly, she walked into the cool and strongly air conditioned lobby, the gleaming glass door held open by a smiling porter, his white gloves pristine. Julie smiled her thanks at him, feeling guilty, because she was perfectly capable of opening her own door. Her new shoes tap-tapped their way to the front desk and she checked herself in.
Holding the plastic key card in her hand, Julie examined the remainder of the hotel on her way up to the 6th storey. Lavishly carpet halls housed pictures of David Beckham, Bill Clinton and other famous faces who had stayed at the Palace on the thickly wallpapered walls. To her left, Julie stopped and stared down a wide staircase which led into the ballroom. Placed right in the centre was a massive rotating statue of writhing horses on their hind legs, neighing furiously, their tails flailing wildly in the air, painted a shining gold. Julie giggled slightly at the extreme tackiness of it. She looked up at the domed roof, and noticed that it was an imitation of Michael Angelo’s Sistine Chapel, with little cherubs swathed in white swaddling, their curly golden blonde hair shining in the apparent rays of sunshine streaming through the clouds. It seemed incongruous to have it in the middle of steaming Malaysia. Julie shook her head slightly, and moved on. Surrounded by such opulence gave her an air of extreme importance, and she suddenly felt intensely elegant, considering she’d just stepped off a ten hour flight and suffered a harrowing taxi journey in sweltering conditions.
         Shimmering chandeliers hung grandly, their polished golden exteriors glinting in every which way. She took a quick glimpse of the second floor restaurant before she entered the elevator. It was appropriately named ‘The Carousel’, for giant circus animals painted pastel blues and pinks and were speared by gilt poles had been placed all over the restaurant. Some loomed menacingly from the ceiling, whilst another furiously neighing horse had been placed in the centre of the room for all to see. Julie noted that the buffet extended from one side of the room to another, long slim tables shrouded in white and crammed full of eclectic platters of food. Julie tore her gaze away and moved on.
         A porter dressed immaculately in his red and gold uniform stood like a statue at the elevator doors.
“Which floor, Madame?”
Julie, a little shocked that there were even people to press buttons, uttered a croaky “six”. The man smiled at her, and, with his pristine white gloves, carefully pushed the button for the elevator. An awkward few seconds passed as both Julie and the porter watched the digital red numbers from above the elevator doors slowly make their way down to one. After what seemed an eternity, a ding informed the two that the elevator had arrived, following a whooshing of doors opening. Julie stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. Never had she imagined that Malaysia would bring such wealth and decadence. The Palace of the Golden Horses had certainly sounded exotic, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that it might actually be amazing. Julie made a mental note to thank her agent in the morning.

“Julie? Julie? Julie, are you there?”
“Yeah I am, sorry.”
“Look, our conference today has been postponed until tomorrow morning. 10 Am. Okay? Got that? 10 Am. Don’t forget. I’ll send a car round tomorrow.”
“Postponed? But what am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Go shopping. Now remember 10am tomorrow.”
         An abrupt click informed Julie that she had been cut off. Sighing, she rolled over in her bed and look out over the balcony onto a carpet of green foliage. A myriad of various bird noises seemed to condense in the humid air. Julie got herself out of bed and decided to visit The Carousel for breakfast.

Breakfast had taken Julie an hour. She had stood overwhelmed by the choice of food, her hand reaching tentatively out for a poached egg, then pausing in mid air as she noticed a juicy slice of star fruit. Everywhere she looked a new dish honed in on her, tempting her with its aesthetics. Her taste buds remained perpetually confused as to what exactly she felt like eating. In frustration, Julie had walked over to the drinks, with a plan of taking a cup of hot tea and mulling over what she should eat. But what kind of tea? Tea with chamomile? Tea with blackberry? She had stomped out of the restaurant and walked aimlessly, eventually finding herself at the pool complex.
         Her feet rested on the warm terracotta tiles. The water glistened; tantalisingly. Julie looked around, and saw that no one was around. She felt comfortable enough to peel off her white t-shirt and too-tight denim jeans. A modest bikini was revealed, yet Julie still stood, savouring the thought of the cool water cutting away the oppressive heat. A figure appeared in the corner of her eye. Turning her head slightly, Julie saw to her dismay that she wouldn’t be swimming alone after all. A man had settled himself on a wooden deck chair under a giant umbrella. He had dark sunglasses on, concealing most of his face, except for his well curved lips. His hair was dark and straight, sweeping across his forehead. He appeared not to have seen Julie, and pulled out a book and began to read. Julie dove in.
         Half an hour later and the man was still there. His book had been put aside and his sunglasses pushed up on his head. Julie could see that he was young, only in his twenties. In fact, he was breathtakingly good looking. Acutely conscious of the fact that she was in her bikini, Julie quickly pulled on her clothes again, despite that fact that she was soaking wet. Her hair slapped against her back, dripping everywhere. Out of nowhere, the man’s hand appeared, offering a thick white towel. Julie smiled her thanks. An impulse triggered her to ask “What’s your name?”
“Olivier” he replied promptly, and without surprise. “And what is yours?” A thick French accent shrouded the words.
“I’m Julie. Thanks for the towel.”
“It just happened to be lying beside me. I thought it a good idea to put it to good use.” A faint smile played on his lips. Julie couldn’t resist smiling back.
“What brings you to exotic Malaysia?”
Julie sighed inwardly. “I know this sounds crazy… but I’m here for the premiere of a movie. Conferences and such like… It’s all very professional.”
Olivier didn’t look disbelieving in the slightest. “No, not crazy at all. I would like to see this movie. Are you the main character?”
         “Yeah. But it’s my first acting role, so I’m not famous or anything. And I don’t really plan to be. It was sort of a one-off thing, you know?”
         Olivier nodded. “How long are you in Malaysia for?”
         “Oh, my plane leaves the day after tomorrow, early morning. The premiere is tomorrow night and that’s it, then I’m going. Back to little old New Zealand.” She smiled, disappointed. She felt dull and uninteresting.
         “Ah, Nouvelle-Zelande. I have always intended to visit that country, but never have.” His eyes flashed slightly, full of meaning that Julie couldn’t read. “I have heard that it is a very beautiful country.”
         “Yes, very beautiful” she stammered slightly. Suddenly she decided, even though she had nothing prepared for the rest of her day, that she needed to go. Softly, she said, “I should probably be going now… It was nice to meet you, Olivier.”
         “And it was nice to meet you too, Julie.”
         The winding path back up to the hotel meant that she stayed in view of the pool. Julie was convinced she felt Olivier’s gaze on her the entire time.

         Images of Olivier flitted through her mind continually. I am going crazy… she thought to herself. She spent the remainder of her day wrapped up in a book, refusing to let her mind wander, or to leave the hotel room for fear of running into the beautiful Olivier again. It wasn’t until 6pm that she realised she was incredibly hungry. Slipping out carefully, Julie made her way to a very empty Italian restaurant on the 4th floor. Malaysian employees hung about, smiling incessantly at Julie and always looking out of the corner of their eyes to ensure that she had everything she needed. Guiltily, she selected a seat in a small corner, partially hidden by a black grand piano on an elevated piece of ground. There was no one to play the piano.
Her eyes skimmed over the elegantly written menu, and she chose a traditional ravioli with red wine. She sat very still, waiting for her meal, her hand twirling the wine and watching the glass reflect the soft embers of light from the chandelier above. A masculine hand took the black velvet chair opposite her, and pulled it out. Julie refused to look up until the familiar tendrils of Olivier’s voice gently pushed her head upwards.
         “I wouldn’t have guessed that you had a particular liking for Italian food.”
         “I don’t, really.”
         “Well, then I suppose I was right.”
         Julie and Olivier dined together, the ticking of the grandfather clock behind Julie unbearably loud. She caught his eye once or twice, and he firmly fixed his gaze onto his plate of spaghetti, making sure not to be caught looking at her again. She picked at her meal, eating slowly and deliberately, almost to punish him for intruding her meal, for ruining her hard work at avoiding him. Olivier got the bill and smiled at Julie.
         “Shall we go outside?”
         Julie merely nodded and followed his tall frame through the elegant doorway. They found themselves back at the poolside, a small portion of the moon filtering through the cloud cover. She felt his hand in hers. It enveloped her hand entirely, and it was slightly calloused. Instinctively, Julie stepped closer to him. He gently pulled her other arm around so she was facing him and suddenly his lips met hers. She inhaled his scent; a musky and thoughtful cologne wrapped around a faint lingering smell of sweat. His hand ran slowly up her back, Julie shivered slightly as goosebumps appeared on her skin.
         Julie and Olivier made love in Julie’s hotel room. A temperate breeze floated gently in and wrapped around them as they lay in each other’s arms. During the early hours of the morning Olivier went to his room to get a bottle of wine, which they sipped from bottle as they sat on the balcony wrapped in sheets from the bed. A drop of serenity fell from the cloud covered sky and  rippled out over the night as it drifted by.
         Julie’s eyes fluttered open. She blearily saw a blurred 7am on the clock and realised that she had to check out in two hours, had two conferences and an interview today, her premiere tonight and was flying out in twenty four hours. Olivier stirred beside her, murmuring sleepily in French.
         “You know I don’t speak French, Olivier” she said softly, smiling, and she heaved herself out of bed. Olivier lunged forward, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back in kicking and squealing.          
         “You’re not leaving.”
“I have to, you know that. My taxi arrives in two hours.”
“Well, that’s two more hours we have together then.”
         Another hour in bed. Ten minutes in the shower. Five minutes dressing. Seven minutes in Oliver’s arms. Fifteen minutes packing. Three minutes in Oliver’s arms again. Five minutes checking out. Now, fifteen minutes to go until her taxi arrived, they both sat in the lobby. Julie lay on the marble bench, her head in Olivier’s lap and he stroked her hair absent mindedly.
         “You know, I will miss you Julie. Even though I don’t know you very well.”
         “I know”
         “Maybe I can come to New Zealand one day, when I continue travelling”
         “Maybe. But how will you ever find me?”
         Oliver didn’t answer this. His lips were pursed, deep in thought. Julie was happy to sit in silence and snuggled down deeper into his lap. She noticed that here too the roof was painted in the style of Michael Angelo’s Sistene Chapel. Julie admired the intricate detail and wondered how someone would have painted all of this when she noticed that instead of little rosy cherubs, there were golden horses instead. She blinked once, twice, to ensure that she was dreaming, and realised she wasn’t.
         “Crazy…” she murmured.
         “What?” Oliver looked at her, his eyes questioning.
         Julie opened her mouth to explained, but was interrupted by a loud accented voice calling out “Miss Green? Miss Julie Green?”
Julie raised her head, “Yes?”
A Malaysian porter came running toward her. With a start Julie realised it was the same man who had opened the elevator for her. Well, she thought, at least he does more than open elevators.
         “You taxi here, Miss Green. Let me take bags for you?” He whisked them away before Julie gave him even the slightest hint of acquiescence. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to see Olivier looked directly at her.
         “I guess this is goodbye then.”
         “I guess so” Julie’s throat constricted and she didn’t trust herself to say anymore. She stepped into his arms and held him tightly.
         “Goodbye, Olivier” she whispered. He leaned in and gently kissed her on the lips. Then he turned and walked away. The huge lobby seemed to surround him, swallowing him up in a strange exotic world which Julie wasn’t a part of. His steps resounded in her head, and he seemed to take an eternity to reach the door at the other end. His hand lingered on the door handle, as if he could sense Julie’s eyes on him. A tap on Julie’s shoulder reminded her of why she was here. She hurried out of the hotel which had so enraptured her two days before. The Malaysian porter smiled at her and pulled open her taxi door.
         “I hope you enjoyed you stay, Miss Green” he told her, still smiling.
         Julie thanked him and stepped into the cramped taxi. He slammed the door on her and thumped the roof reassuringly. The taxi revved up and lurched forward. It pulled away from the opulent hotel, the cobblestone drive, the enormous marble fountain spurting crystalline water from a horse’s mouth and the perfectly trimmed flower gardens, and sped away into a jungle of cars and palm trees, into the heart of Malaysia.