Read Online Carpe Diem by Autumn Cornwell - Free Book Online

eye shadow, and purple nails. She waved her hand with a purple flourish. “Good evening and welcome to The Golden Lotus. Have a seat, please. You must be Cik Vassar, correct? I am Paun Azizah. My son will bring you some refreshment shortly.”
    I momentarily perked up, recognizing that Paun meant “Mrs.,” Cik meant “Miss,” and selamat malam meant “good night.” Look how fast I was picking up the culture!
    The drivers and Hanks carried in Bags #1 through #10. Henry Lee, Sr. finished a halting and confusing conversation with Azizah, then turned to me and shrugged.
    â€œYou must wait for your grandmother—she has taken the only key. Paun Azizah gave her the original after she lost the spare. But she expects her back very soon.”
    â€œYes, your grandmamma, she is so very forgetful,” said Azizah, shaking her head merrily. She held up an embroidered wallet. “Again this morning she leave wallet on my counter. Last night she forget this.” She held up a dried starfish. “Artists.” She laughed.
    On his way out, Hanks paused in front of me, a quizzical expression in his dark eyes. “You gonna be all right?”
    â€œOf course,” I lied. “Thanks for carrying all my—”

    â€œNo problem. Nighty night.” Hanks tipped his hat at me and followed his dad back to the van.
    I sat down on the lumpy rattan couch and checked my PTP: 6:16 p.m. Where was Grandma Gerd? What was going on?
    The metal fan, creaking as it ineptly wafted warm air through the humidity, made me even more irritable. Azizah flipped on the black-and-white TV behind the counter and settled back to enjoy a turgid Malaysian soap opera. Two scrawny amber cats ambled in and flopped onto the cement floor.
    A barefoot boy in red shorts and a Spider-Man shirt presented me with thick black coffee with a lot of sugar and condensed milk—Malaysian kopi. Slowly and precisely I read from my guidebook’s page of Useful Malay Phrases: “Terima kasih.” He slowly and precisely replied: “You’re welcome” as if I were simple.
    I did not like Malaysian coffee. It was too thick and too sweet and made me sweat even more. And the shrill voices from the melodrama were giving me a headache.
    I wanted a shower. I wanted food. I wanted quiet. And I wanted Grandma Gerd here. Now.
    I opened my Latin Quote for the day: “Non calor sed umor est qui nobis incommodat.”
    It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.
    They got that right, I thought, as I fanned my face with my guidebook.

    To pass the time, I scanned the room for details to put in my novel. Something hanging on the wall behind the counter caught my eye: a piece of cardboard with five slices of glazed white bread nailed on it—and five cherry cough drops glued on each slice.
    Azizah smiled. “Nice, yes? Your grandmamma call it: Bread Coughs. ”
    I choked and spit kopi all down the front of my Traveler’s Friend Linen Blouse.

CHAPTER THREE
    Grandma Gerd
    F ssshttt!
    â€œFantastic!”
    I awoke to find a woman taking a Polaroid photo of my chest.
    â€œWhere did you get this stain? Look at the bilious brownish-yellow tones—fantastic! In the shape of a platypus—fantastic! Look, there’s his bill and his webbed feet. Fan-ta-stic … Azizah, is this or is this not the most fantastic stain you’ve ever seen?”
    â€œYou’re the artist,” sang Azizah.
    â€œFantastic!”
    Make that an artist in need of a thesaurus, I thought.
    A tanned, lanky woman approximately sixty, about my height, loomed over me. I scanned her from top to bottom:
    A shaggy mop of silver-grey hair. Her thick bangs higher on one side than the other. (Did she trim it herself? With hedge clippers?)
    Tortoiseshell glasses with green polarized lenses. One of
the tortoiseshell arms had been replaced with a mismatched black one.
    A carved ivory dragon necklace.
    Baggy brown pants.
    Worn