“Yes, we are very full tonight, but we can accommodate five more people, no problem. What time can we expect you? In one hour? See you then, Mr. Ali.”

She snapped her appointment book shut and decided to freshen up. She had been on her feet since seven o'clock and they were starting to hurt. There were three bookings at nine-thirty so she had enough time to have a cigarette, a lie down and a hot tea. She walked down the corridor, turned right, walked all the way down, past three rooms on the right and two on the left until she came to a small door. She unlocked it, walked in, peeled off her heels—a new pair of black leather Miu Mius—and heaved a swift sigh.

Marina took out a cigarette from a gold case that Mr Ferrari had given her for her birthday and lit it. Smoke curled around her face and she shook her hair out. She sat down at a small dressing table and smiled at the reflection. Her coloured hair was blown into soft waves and the bronze highlights glinted under the yellow light. Her eyebrows were teased and filled into perfect arches. Her light blue contact lenses made her look like a screen siren and her low-cut scarlet dress clearly accentuated her breasts. She looked and felt wonderful.

She was now the manager of the karaoke club, which also served as a high-class brothel. During the day, the club’s office doubled as the headquarters of the Mak Nyah Association of Malaysia. She had five volunteers who staffed the office, processing cases of police abuse and harassment to high-powered human rights lawyers who did the work pro bono. She was becoming the voice of trans rights in Malaysia and she had a job she loved. Her sex change surgery had been a success and she was still getting used to the fact that she no longer had a penis. When she peed, she now sat on the toilet seat, and had already used more toilet paper than she ever imagined.

Her handphone beeped. It was him, right on time. The SMS read.

How are you, darling? See you soon, so we can yam seng later, okay?

Marina chuckled. Mr Ferrari would have to do the rounds later that night and she would have to accompany him, carrying a bottle of cognac while he drank to each and every one of his clients.

“Bottoms up! Yaaaaaaaaam seng! Yaaaaaaaaaam seng!”

It was 2004 and the Year of the Monkey, a time for beginnings and endings.