The Bird with No Legs (Macau)

The Bird with No Legs (Macau) My colleague introduced me to the lady who was wearing a black business suit. “I would like to introduce you to Fatima.” I smiled and held out my hand to shake.

She smiled back and she took it. And we shook hands like men. “I am Fatima Freire.”

My colleague explained further, “She is our contact in Macau. Her company has direct contacts with all the Casinos in Macau. She and her team are the ones to know when it comes to the Gaming industry.”

I reached into my suit pocket, pulled out my business card hold and extracted one. I held it out for her to take in a traditional Chinese pattern – holding it out for her to take – holding the edges.

She took it in the traditional Chinese way and studied it for a second or two although she didn’t look traditional Chinese. She looked more European. “You have a Chinese name?” And she laughed.

“Yeah, I got the name in Taipei while working at a customer site.”

She laughed out loud again. “Dragon? Really? Your last name is Dragon?”

“Yeah,” I beamed back at her. “It was a joke. They named me after Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan.”

We stared at each other for a second two – and the boardroom went silent watching us.

Finally she broke the silence. “Should we get started?”

I nodded. “Yeah, let’s.”

And my company representatives did the usual and sat in the chairs across from Fatima’s colleagues in a very confrontational manner. I rebelled and took a seat beside Fatima.

One of her Chinese colleagues was a little confused when I did this. He moved over and took the seat beside me.

The meeting began dryly. Our company started with Powerpoints about what our company did and basics about its background. Suddenly, Fatima interrupted. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? We don’t have a lot of time. What do you want us to do?”

My local Hong Kong team was taken back. They had never met a woman so forward.

They started staring each other. She then began to talk in Cantonese and said the same thing. The local Hong Kong team laughed when they knew she spoke Cantonese. One of her teammates said something in Mandarin and she went serious and responded back in Mandarin.

“I am impressed,” I said without thinking.

“Americans are easily impressed. They can only speak one language.”

The room went quiet afraid there was an upcoming confrontation. She stared at me with a blank look. I looked back at her – but I could read it – and at the same time we both laughed loudly.

The tension in the room relaxed. I spoke out of turn, “We do predict fraud before it happens, we break up fraud rings, and we can also help you doing analytics on your customer loyalty program – especially for your high rollers.”

“But they deal with cash and they usually disappear back into Mainland.”

“But they have loyalty cards.”

She responded back, “But sometimes its fake names or false information they use to register for the loyal cards.”

One of my colleagues started to respond about how our analytical solutions work. He started talking technical. I saw Fatima’s eyes glaze. She was quick to respond, “Talk money not technology. I am here for business and I don’t care about the details.” The room went quiet. “And you still didn’t respond to my question. How do you trace or give benefits to high rollers who want to remain anonymous even with loyalty cards?”

“RFID.” I blurted out.

Everyone turned to me.

Fatima asked first, “What?”

“Your loyalty cards should have RFIDs embedded so you can trace your customer’s movements and see how they interact with the machines on the floor throughout the casino. We can use this RFID and their loyalty number to make them unique. And while they are on the premises, we can predict their needs, give them perks, make predictions about how money they will win, and how much money they will lose.”

“So you provide the RFIDs?” she asked.

I could tell my team was getting nervous.

“No. You have to do that. But once you do it – we can warehouse it and score it – do analytics on it close to real time. Imagine walking to the concierge and the concierge anticipating what you are going to ask before you ask it.”

“You can do that?” she asked.

“We do that in Vegas.”

Fatima looked at me a long time as the conversation broke into Cantonese. I caught her eyes but then looked away.

After an hour, Fatima suggested we wrap up. “And I suggest you all to come to Macau tonight. I want to take you around – give you a taste of our connections – and maybe enjoy the nightlife.”

My team looked at me instantly. “Gary will love that. He lives in Lan Kwai Fong.” One of my team members said trying to make a joke. The only people that laughed was my local team members. But then he followed up with, “Okay. That would be great.”

“Excellent,” Fatima stood up. “I will arrange dinner and then we will go out on the town.”

Her team stood up around her.

Because I was sitting beside her and in her heels she was already taller than me – now standing over me – I felt compelled to stand too.

“I will email the details – please distribute to anyone you see fit.”

We all nodded. She turned to me and held out her hand for me to shake first. “You like to party?”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes you.”

“Sometimes.”

“Well let’s see if you can keep up with me.” And she let go of my hand and she went around the room shaking everyone else’s hand.

I laughed and even though she was saying goodbye to others I said outloud, “Okay, bring it. It’s on.”

She smiled and as she walked out of the room, she came near to me and said in a half whisper and half voice, “It’s on.”

We were finishing our bottle of Chianti wine. Most of my local team members who had been in the initial meeting had cancelled saying they had family obligations. However, one or two were with me – but Fatima’s team was all in attendance. The conversations drifted in and out of business and technical and Cantonese and Mandarin. When the owner of the Portuguese restaurant came up, Fatima spoke to him in Portuguese.

“How many languages do you speak?” I asked.

“More than you.” And she winked.

“Cheers to that,” and I held my wine glass up for her. She clinked it. Then our team members followed.

The two teams started talking in Cantonese. Fatima then turned to me in English, “So how long have you been in Hong Kong?”

“A little over three years.” I took a sip of my wine. “You know, if this hadn’t been business, I would think you have been flirting with me.” And as soon as I said it, I knew I had maybe spoken inappropriately.

She smiled. “Yeah, if it wasn’t business, maybe I was business. But sadly, I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Or date where I work.” I added.

“Yeah, I cannot mix business and pleasure.” She said frankly.

“Well I am dating someone anyway.” And I went quiet.

“I am dating someone too.” She said.

“Well then it’s not in our destiny.”

“No destiny is yours. Grab it by the balls.” She said sipping her wine.

“I see you have. Its very inspiring to see you as a powerful woman leading Chinese men to fame and fortune.”

“I am Chinese too.”

“You are?”

She smiled. “What did you think I was?”

“You look European.”

“My father was Portuguese and my mother was Chinese.”

Then we heard the table go quiet a little. One of my team members started saying he needed to get back to Hong Kong.

Fatima spoke up quickly. “Come with us across the street to the MGM Grand. One drink.”

My team member looked trapped. But then he nodded in agreement.

Fatima asked for the bill. They brought it quickly while another waiter equally distributing the remains of our wine amongst our glasses – giving Fatima and I more of the leftovers.

Suddenly, in the Lion’s Den, we were seated at a table close to the stage where the band was playing. It was a typical Canadian and UK mixed band crooning hip hop, dance, and R&B favorites. We ordered a round of drinks. Then we ordered another. And on the third order – my third Red Bull and Vodka I noticed only one of my team members was left and he was very, very drunk. Fatima’s team had also disappeared. But Fatima and I were going strong. Over the bump, bump of the base and the speakers, we yelled our conversations at each other.

We found out that both of us had been married when we were younger. She had just gotten out of a long relationship recently and came out stronger than before. I told her about Sophia. We both agreed long distance relationships are incredibly hard. She was trying to date a very gorgeous man from Iran.

She saw me moving to the music. “You like the band?”

“Yeah, they are pretty good.”

“I was a singer when I was younger,” she said. “I competed for the Miss Hong Kong competition.”

“Wow. That’s impressive.” I took a long sip of my Vodka and Red Bull. “I also sing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at me seriously. “You want to sing with the band?”

I cocked my head. “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t play dumb. You want to sing with the band?”

“Sure.”

“What song do you want to sing?”

I laughed nervously wondering if she was bullshitting me. “Okay, Stevie Wonder – Superstition.”

She took a sip of her Red Bull and Vodka and then stood up. She hurried into the dancing throng and neared the stage. The lady singer was doing backup for the current number saw Fatima and smiled. The singer leaned down and Fatima whispered in her ear. The singer turned and saw me and smiled. They broke away with the lady singer giving a thumbs up. The singer then started traveling around to the other band members and whispering in their ear.

Fatima returned and sat down looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“You are serious?”

She said nothing just smiled.

“Can the band really do that – ask anyone to come on stage?”

“You are with me. I know everybody in this town. You ask me. I will make it happen.”

I laughed. “What’s your whole name?”

She laughed. “What a random question? What do you mean?”

“I mean what is your whole name?”

“Fatima Francisco Freire.”

“My god. There are a lot of the letter F’s there.”

“Yeah three. Some people call me F3.”

“Wow you sound like a sex robot.”

She winked at me, “Maybe I am.”

Suddenly, the singer who had a resemblance to Sade got on the microphone. “We got a real treat for you tonight. We have a guest singer. His name is Jackson. Give him a warm round of applause.”

That’s when I felt my stomach drop. This was going to happen! I gulped. Fatima mouthed to me, “Get your ass up there!”

I stood up and then the whole Lion’s Den applauded. The bassist near to the side of the stage pointed to some stairs for me to travel up.

The lady singer went on, “Jackson is going to be doing a little Stevie Wonder number.

Superstition.”

The male singer added, “Great song. Great choice.”

I came up on stage and they handed me a microphone. The male singer put his arm around me when he saw I was all smiles. “Break a leg man.”

Then the lady singer who even up close looked just as sexy as Sade came up to me and put her arm around my waist. Her perfume was incredible. She spoke into her microphone. “You ready Jackson?”

I smiled and spoke into the microphone as well. “Yeah, very ready. Let’s do this!”

And the lady singer squealed in delight. The other band members laughed. And then they knew I was serious when I counted off like James Brown, “One, two – a – one, two, three, four…” And then the band broke into the jazzy hook that was the song Superstition.

And just before my first stanza started, I did my customary signature move – I fell to the back of the floor and then popped again just on time and on cue. “There is Superstitious writing on the wall…”

The Lion’s Den roared.

Now Fatima and myself were alone now. All our team members were gone. We were still drinking hardcore. We talked about everything. Where we were in our careers, in our relationships and I almost told her about my two destinies – but I thought we had just met and that was too much to say – at this point.

And suddenly I asked her to excuse me, and I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was talking a very attractive dirty blonde who was sitting in the chair beside ours.

Fatima signaled me over. And then she said, “She is from Beirut.”

The woman was very attractive but very, very drunk. “Fuck him!” she yelled. And she looked over to a guy standing near the bar talking to one of the scantily clad local women. “He took my passport and won’t let me leave!”

“Whoa. Are you okay?” I asked her.

She stumbled a little bit but she walked closer to me. “You are so lucky to have her. I saw that she put you on stage! You are so, so damn lucky…”

I laughed. “We are not together. We are business associates.”

“Not yet,” Fatima said. And then winked.

“Well soon.” I answered.

“Well, she is a catch. A find. You need to keep her. She is a keeper!” And she put her hand down on the chair to keep herself standing. “You know Ramadan is soon? And I will be trapped her because that“ - and whirled her finger in his direction – “has hidden my passport and I cannot leave!”

Fatima stood near me and asked, “Hey, you want to go somewhere else?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Okay. You are my boss.”

She winked. “Not yet.”

As we said we were leaving, the attractive woman from Beirut said she was coming with us. Fatima nodded and agreed. And we were off. We went to the grand entrance of the MGM Grand and Fatima told us to go outside. She was going to talk to the front desk.

The Beirut lady who had never introduced herself and I stood outside. “No offense. But men are assholes.”

“I know.” I said.

“You know? So why don’t you change it?”

“I think because its in our genetic code.”

Suddenly, Fatima appeared. She was smiling.

“What’s up? How are we going to get to where we are going?”

“You will see.” And just then a black Jaguar pulled up with an MGM Grand logo on it.

People came running out of the entrance and opened the doors for all of us. I sat up front with the driver.

“Who is paying for this?” I asked.

“Its comp’d.” Fatima said and I saw her proud of herself in the rearview mirror.

The car dropped us off at the club D2. It was ladies night. So the club was packed and on the stage was a group of Filipino body builders who were stripping to the music. It was so packed that all three of us stayed near the entrance. The ladies gave me their free drink coupons to go to the bar. But when I handed them over – the bartenders wouldn’t accept them – thinking I was trying to steal. They asked to see the women they were for.

I tried to signal Beirut and Fatima over. But already two guys were chatting to them.

Fatima saw me suddenly and came up quickly. She pointed out herself and Beirut. Then the bartenders relented and I ordered my drink.

When the barmaid brought us our drinks, Beirut was making out with a black guy.

Fatima and I laughed and turned away. But then suddenly, I glanced over and I saw tears starting to stream down her face. She jerked away from the mouth of the black guy saying, “I can’t do this. He is such an asshole.”

Then I saw the black guy go into therapy mode asking what was wrong. She started crying heavily and her body shuddered.

“Poor guy,” I said.

Fatima looked at me strange. “Why poor him?”

“He thought he was going to get an easy lay. But now he has to be her psychologist.”

“Poor her,” Fatima corrected.

And we did another cheers and stood there in the fray watching people. She then leaned in closer to me, “You know I have something I want to tell you.”

“I hope its good.” I said winking.

“I don’t know.” Fatima answered.

I got serious – well as serious as the alcohol buzz would let me. “Okay, give it to me.

Hit me.”

“You know after talking to you tonight – about your life. You being told your two destinies. Talking about your past. I see this image in my mind. Actually it’s an analogy.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“You are like a bird with no legs.”

My face scrunched together. “How so?”

“You are always flying here and there. And you never land because you tell people you are damaged. You have no legs. And along the way while you are flying – you are always meeting other birds – very interesting, very passionate – but then you just keep flying – never landing – never stopping.”

“Okay,” I responded not really knowing what else to say. And everytime she mentioned the word “bird” I kept thinking of the UK slang for women.

“But you know, it’s not about the legs at all. Just land. And then you can work on getting legs later.”

“Okay,” I responsed again.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she said a little more vulnerable than she had been all night.

“No. It’s fair. But I have been compared to being a fish man when I was in Tokyo and now I have been compared to being a bird with no legs.”

“It’s better than being compared to a jackass.”

“True, very true,” and we clinked our glasses together.

A little later, a big muscled man came up to Fatima and they struck up a lively conversation. A woman from Jakarta who was very attractive began talking to me. And we even danced a little but then she asked if I would like to come back with her. I told her I was flattered but no. I was in a relationship.

The Jakarta woman asked, “Is that her?” looking at Fatima. “She can join us.”

I laughed. “No. It’s not her. She’s my boss.”

“Not yet,” Fatima said suddenly whirling around and giving us both a wink. The Jakarta lady blushed.

The next day with bloodshot eyes but pumped up on caffeine, late in the afternoon, Fatima, who was “working from home” sent me an email to come online to chat. She said she had a dream about me.

I was intrigued. Went online quickly. “Was it nice or naughty?”

She then replied back “Shutup.” She then quickly added, “It was such a random dream.

And it didn’t mean anything to me. But maybe it means something to you.”

I typed back, “Okay tell me.”

And then the online chat said she was typing for a long, long time.

“We were in a bus...heading to some place....like a forest... We arrived in a place....with a lot of people crowded.... And it seemed like a market... A lot of people crowded... And mattresses on the floor... With lanterns and different stuff for sale… You then picked up a deck of silver cards…. You decided to buy them and the lady that sold u that said this controls your life for the next year... in this dream... everything You did You held onto the cards… Then I don’t remember some things in the middle… then there is this scene where You tell me...the cards say...we either take the boat or the helicopter... and this Indian guy comes to you and says: Jackson...You control your life... not the cards......he takes them from your hand...and says.... And make decisions on your own.... Don’t ask the cards. Ask yourself – what makes you happy? Then in my dream you are very relieved... Looking at me…”

The screen went quiet. I did nothing. I digested her words.

Then she started typing again.

“Then I woke up with a phone call. That’s it.”

She then added, “Does that mean anything to you?”

I didn’t type something for a long while. But then finally pushed on the keyboard, “Yeah it does.”

Written by GS Jackson, © 2009 LOL Entertainment Group, LLC (USA) Limited (HKG)