Irwan came from a wealthy family, which was probably why he abused his power in small ways. He asked me to draft proposal letters for a side project of his that had nothing to do with work. Once I had to leave the office just to pay his credit card bills. I knew I had the right to protest, but, for the time being, I kept quiet.

—

‘Do you have plans after work?’

I lifted my head. Irwan was wearing a red tie, which peeked from his conservative suit jacket. There was something terribly wrong about that tie. Maybe its colour was too bright. It didn’t match the atmosphere at all. The office was full of dull colours.

Red is sultry. Red coagulates and sticks like chewing gum. Red demands realisation, real-I-sation, it cannot be put off, cannot be flushed down into a sewer.

‘Saras?’

‘No, no plans.’

‘Then come and have a coffee with me.’

When you work for someone, you get used to imperative sentences.

I was trying to guess at the meaning behind that coffee. What he meant was coffee in a cup and saucer in an air-conditioned space, not coffee served up black in a glass at a roadside stall with grounds floating in it. What he meant was to share in a ritual that belonged to a specific class and had a specific purpose – to establish a relationship, or maybe to do some networking. Very attractive for career development, but I wasn’t interested in getting closer to a married man.

Hypocrite.

I wondered if there might be consequences if I refused.

She wants him, but doesn’t want to be the one to shoulder the blame.

‘I’ve been tasked with an extra assignment,’ he said. ‘The managing director needs a special report finished by tomorrow. I hope you can help.’

Irwan seemed to notice my hesitation. He stressed that the invitation was a professional one. After thinking it over, I accepted.

I am the sibling who shares warmth with you in that narrow, red space. I know how in high school you read a cheap porn novel about a secretary who went into her boss’s office not wearing any underwear. You are crass, crazed, crimson. Come on, crack! Don’t you dream of satisfying the animal wildness under that sophisticated skirt of yours?

So we went to a cafe that played fifties jazz. Tucked away in the dim light, we sat on a red velvet sofa so big I sunk into it. Without the coffee, I might have become drowsy. Why did Irwan choose a place like this to discuss an office project?

A brothel –

A butterfly like me prefers the dim, the dusky, the delusion, the dream. A festive house in a forest filled with wolves. You will never understand until you step inside.