Babe in Total Control of Herself

It was all about having the right comeback at the right time. It was all about keeping your knives sharpened so that the microsecond you were insulted, you could respond. Sometimes you practised in front of the mirror. It was that important. Timing was everything.

Rana was a star. She had her own column and civilians actually wanted her autograph. People knew her from her photo byline and she would be stopped in the street by fans who panted adoringly: "Are you the Rana Weera?" She wrote about being the most beautiful woman on the planet. And how a perfumer told her she had so much personality that she should host a talkshow. And how this extremely delectable black man addressed her as "Hey Gorgeous". And she was. Beautiful, that is. Just not svelte beautiful. And if you know anything about Malaysian men, you would know they insist on svelte beautiful.

It was an ordinary day in the office. The cheerful clatter of reporters pounding on stone age PCs. Hot and heavy flirting going on through the internal messaging system. One young recruit ducking under her table when she saw the news editor looking purposefully around, long press release in hand. Another one, with five files on her desk, on the phone, with her brow furrowed in concentration (she was talking to her mother).

Rana strolled over to Bubbly's desk to get a name card. Bubbly, who was working on a cheerful little piece on suicide, flashed her a million-dollar-smile and started rifling through her Rolodex. They were good friends but Bubbly was svelte beautiful. And she didn't have to write about being much sought after. She actually was.

Rana, tapping her foot impatiently: "Look, if you don't have it, just say so."

Bubbly, in saintly tones: "I don't like saying no to my friends."

Rana, with a sarcastic sneer: "Yes, rumour has it."

Bubbly's head snapped up. A loaded pause as she let her gaze wander over Rana's Rubenesque form.

Then: "At least I say yes and get somewhere."

Like I said. It's all in the timing.