Page 6 of Don't Point at the Moon

When he followed up with words in Cantonese, Mitchell could only guess their meaning from the tone and the face William pulled. Both men habitually ridiculed the Western tradition of serving cold finger food at drink parties.

“Could they not at least switch off the air-conditioning for a few minutes?” asked William, blowing heat into the fingers of one hand. “Or do they think the vegan pâté rice cakes might get warm.”

“Is anyone actually enjoying this?” asked Harold.

“Tommy Chow,” muttered William with disdain.

“Tommy’s here?” asked Harold.

“By the bay windows,” said William. “Wearing the expensive, tight-fitting Alexander McQueen shirt, if I’m not mistaken. In virginal white. Oh my, the irony.”

“Mr Smoking Hot? I assumed he was one of the waiting staff,” said Mark, his attention drawn to the figure William had pointed out.

Mitchell recognised him immediately. Tommy Chow, all smiles, networking the room like a vote-hungry politician. Mark was right, Tommy turned heads. Perfectly coiffed dark hair brushed up and with tapered sides showcasing his flawless, handsome Asian features. He looked like a Canto-pop celebrity in his fitted jeans and blue felt shoes without socks to show off his muscled legs and slim ankles. Mitchell had never been attracted to ostentatious men, but Tommy’s many ensembles always seemed effortless, natural rather than cultured.

“Good heavens, Mark,” said Harold, a hand pressed to his chest. “Are you telling me you’ve been in Hong Kong all this time and he hasn’t tried to jump your bones? Tommy must be off his game.”

Mitchell had never been able to figure out Tommy. On the rare occasions they’d met, Tommy had been civil enough, but his attention had quickly wandered elsewhere, probably on the lookout for something better. Mitchell had shrugged off the slight and didn’t even find the behaviour insulting. He knew he wasn’t Tommy’s type. Too old and uncool. End of story. And that suited Mitchell perfectly because he’d already had the best. And nobody, not even Tommy the socialite, could compete or even come close. But that didn’t stop Mitchell’s faint admiration. Tommy might have flaws—who didn’t?—and be considered vapid and superficial by their highly critical group, but on a night like tonight he put their antisocial elitism to shame.

“Don’t be offended, Mark,” said Mitchell, sipping his wine. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been snubbed by him. I’m not even sure he remembers my name.”

“That, my dear Mitchell, is because you have singular tastes and impossibly high standards where potential mates are concerned,” said Harold. “What is it Kate says about you? Mitchell is not one of those happy to dip his toe into many pools until he finds one he likes. He’s someone whose idea of foreplay is intelligent conversation. And I’m afraid, my dear, that’s enough to scare the shit out of most of our local gay community. Especially men like Tommy, who prefer to splash aimlessly from one puddle to the next like toddlers happy to be in the rain.”

Mitchell chuckled at the image. Harold had tried to match-make Mitchell with a couple of his friends. Never successfully. And, yes, he was not a fan of online hook-ups, but neither was he a prude. During his first few months in Hong Kong he had swiped his way through a handful of no-strings encounters. Butthe selection had grown smaller every time, and the appeal had soon waned.

“At least Tommy’s bothering to mingle,” said Mark, his eyes still trained across the room.

“Tommy’s a sexual butterfly,” said William, plucking a slice of offending cucumber from the top of his finger food. “He’s not mingling. He’s flitting from group to group, trying to sniff out tonight’s hook-up.”

“I thought you said we were the only gay men at this party,” said Mark.

“Tommy’s an equal opportunity slut,” said William. “Heterosexuality has never been a barrier.”

“I know the guy he’s chatting to,” said Mitchell. “That tall, good-looking one with the light brown hair is Adam. He’s an investment analyst. Plays rugby for a local team. And he’s definitely straight. I work with his wife.”

“Whereas the shady-looking gentleman standing next to him is single and will take whatever he can get,” said Harold. “Not a particularly decent sort, by all accounts. Heaven knows how he got himself invited.”

“Gentlemen,” came Kate’s clipped English voice from behind them. Mitchell noticed everyone stiffen slightly as though a teacher had caught them vaping in the cloakroom. “Thanks awfully for coming tonight. This was supposed to be an early gathering for everyone to meet Angel before her bedtime. An hour ago. Just hang on a few more minutes. She’s finally decided which new dress she’ll wear. Already turned her nose up and stamped her heel at four of our choices, the little madam.”

“Taking after Beth, then?” said Mitchell with a smirk.

Although she giggled along with them all, Kate tilted her head at Mitchell to let him know that his comment wasn’t far from the truth. Two demanding Beths in the same household would make for an interesting future.

Kate appeared to have been tasked with preparing and quieting the room, readying everyone for the entrance of the new starlet. Right on cue, the only child at the party appeared in the corridor leading from the bedrooms. Dressed in an ice-blue dress, like a miniature Elsa fromFrozen, she was being urged forward by an uncharacteristically stressed Beth.

“Hi, everyone. This is Angel,” said Beth in her crisp New York accent. “As you know, Angel’s been living at a local orphanage for the past two years. You’ll also know that Beth and I have been to see her on numerous occasions, and we’ve gotten to know each other really well. Anyway, she’s agreed to come and live with us for six months on a trial fostering arrangement. And if she enjoys living here, well, maybe she’ll agree to stay for good. But that’s going to be her choice. Would you want to say a few words, Angel?”

Taking a step forward from Beth, Angel yanked her hand away, clasped both of her hands to her stomach as though about to sing.

“My aunties asked me to come and say hello to you all. After school we had a party with my school friends and we had special cupcakes. I’m afraid we ate all of those, but we left the balloons for you. Although you can’t eat them, of course. Anyway, I hope you have a nice time, even if there’s no cake. And thank you all for my presents that my aunties say I can open tomorrow morning. But for now, I need to go to bed, so good night.”

To a chorus of good nights, the pretty little thing grinned a gap-toothed smile and waved a hand like royalty before turning away. But then, as an afterthought, she turned back.

“And Auntie Beth said nobody better spill a goddamn thing on her ‘spensive rugs—”

“Yes, yes, Angel, hon. Time for bed now,” said Beth, her eyes widening at Kate before she led their new arrival into thecorridor to a murmur of titters. Yes, their little Angel was going to be a handful.

“Let’s suffer through another fifteen minutes before making our escape,” said Harold, peering over at the small group by the front door bidding their goodbyes to Kate and Beth. “Not sure if you noticed, Mitchell, but your colleague’s drunken husband slipped out a moment ago. Led away by Tommy and the vampire. Heaven knows where they’re off to, but I doubt it will end well.”

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