If there is one plus point to working at Singapore's most established and internationally well-known dance club, it is that you do not lack friends to party with on a Friday night.

Ms Alyssa Kokilah, artiste booking manager at Zouk, knows this.

'I get a lot of text messages from members asking for complimentary passes for non-members,' she says while she texts back.

Members can bring only one guest in and none on hot nights such as Christmas Day or New Year's eve.

She says yes to the requests for cover charge waiver unless, say, members want to bring in 10 people without paying. In those cases, she diplomatically directs them to the ticket counter.

The lines between the social and the professional can be blur in the entertainment business, but each night, she has to make the judgment calls.

All night, her mobile phone rings, with calls for her to join groups of friends in various parts of the club.

Fridays are one of the busiest nights of the week. By 2am, the Zouk anchor club is teeming with what feels like all of Singapore's 20-something population, along with a smattering of people on either side of the age group. On those nights, about 3,000 clubbers hit the nightspot.

At 29 years old, Ms Kokilah has a uniquely powerful job. She hires DJs, the people who can make or break a clubber's night out.

When you have that position in Zouk, a 19-year-old Singapore institution and tourism icon, on your shoulders rest the reputation of the club recently voted 10th best in the world by the respected DJ Magazine in a online poll held earlier this year.

'We are the only club in Asia in the top 10,' she says with pride.

When she is not mingling with friends and VIPs during her shift, her eyes scan the room checking for signs of crowd boredom or apathy.

Singapore's club scene has recently become more competitive and clubbers can now shop around for the place with the coolest vibe and trendiest people.

Also, as usual, the members' bar is more densely packed and less comfortable than the rest of the club.

The reason people choose to put up with the discomfort: Membership has huge cachet. It cannot be bought but is bestowed upon those Ms Kokilah says has the 'Zouk factor', which she defines as a mix of loyalty and a knowledge of the music and the artistes on the roster.

'Membership is given only at the management's recommendation and discretion,' reads a frosty message on the club's website.

The site goes on to recommend that an applicant introduce himself to the front office manager 'so that he can get to know you on a personal basis'. Should he like the cut of your jib, and if there is vacancy, he may decide to recommend you for membership, which, by the way, is free.

Many ask but few are chosen, says the attractive Ms Kokilah, who is of Indian-Chinese parentage ('The best of both worlds,' she says with a laugh of her heritage).

Dealing with texts asking for freebies is not the trickiest part of her job. One of her responsibilities is to play minder to the superstars of the international club scene, the DJs who fly into Singapore to play at Zouk as featured guests.

'No, they are not divas,' she insists, so she does not have to fill hotel rooms with only a certain brand of toiletry or ensure that dressing rooms are bursting with fresh camellias.

Now and then, she gets special requests, mainly having to do with the dinner she hosts for them just before their set at the club.

One health-conscious, top-ranked DJ asked for organic, grass-fed beef and, to wash it down, soft drinks made with real cane sugar, not the more common corn syrup.

'He'd just given up smoking and drinking, too,' she adds.

DJs are like any other professional, she says. Their hours may be topsy-turvy, but it does not mean they let themselves go.

The same can be said for herself. She may go to bed when others are waking up, but as the hostess with the mostest, she has to take care of herself and her wardrobe.

Tonight is no exception.

The bindi on her forehead is a Swarovski crystal. Her VK jeans come from the regular Zouk flea market and her gold-sequinned top is from Topshop.

She spent more than six years working as an air stewardess with Singapore Airlines before joining the club two years ago, so she knows about service and the need to look fresh and fit, no matter what the time of day.

On her 5 1/2-day work week, Tuesdays see her at the club from noon till 8pm. From Wednesdays to Thursdays, she is there from 4pm to 1am.

On the crunch days of Fridays and Saturdays, the hours run from 6pm till when she sees off the DJ at the end of the set, which could be anywhere between 3 and 5am.

When the opening for the job was advertised two years ago, she knew there would be intense competition for it.

She turned her resume into an art-and-craft project by printing it on a sticker pasted onto a vinyl record, the kind the DJs use. It got her the interview and the job.

There is an obvious question hanging in the air: Has she received sexual advances from the DJs and musicians who pass through Singapore?

No, says Ms Kokilah, who is attached but unmarried.

By the time they are good enough to play at Zouk, artistes should be professional enough to know better than to risk offending the people who run one of Asia's most influential clubs, she says.

'No matter what, I represent the club and they represent themselves and their agencies,' she says.

She is aware that some think she gets by on looks, but she feels old-fashioned Asian hospitality has more to do with it.

For example, should an artiste extend his stay in Singapore, she will play host as he takes in Chinatown or Little India.

These globetrotters want the uniquely Singapore shopping experience so no ordinary mall will do. It is off to Haji Lane for shoes and clothes.

For food, she takes them to Spize eatery in River Valley Road for Maggi Mee goreng, prata at the Botanic Gardens or laksa in Holland Road.

On most nights, when she is not whizzing from room to room making sure the beats are blasting and the energy levels are high, she is on her computer looking out for rising clubland stars, reading e-mails from agents pitching artistes and listening to mixes sent by DJs looking for a gig.

Her filter for what is hot or not in street culture and club cachet is finely tuned, she says.

Tonight, the guest DJs are a couple of genial, middle-aged Belgians, David Fouquaert and Mohamed Becha, known as The Glimmers. They play the main console at the main club while another turntablist, Christopher Clayton, aka Karizma, is spinning at a secondary room, Velvet Underground, known for its more adventurous sound and slightly older, more upmarket crowd.

The Belgians start their set at 1am, after being grilled for the Zouk blog by Ms Kokilah and given a tour of the parts of the club that many do not see.

She shows them a tiny hidden mixing room filled with thousands of records and CDs belonging to the owner of the club, Mr Lincoln Cheng. Here, should the inspiration arise, a DJ can whip up a mix and have it played the same night.

The dressing room, if it can be called that, is a spartan affair consisting of a toilet, a shower and a table with a mirror.

DJs are unfussy people who like to just get on with the job and are not concerned about the frills, she says.

At around 2am, Karizma gets a surprise. The club breaks out into a chorus of Happy Birthday. It is his 40th and the Baltimore native is visibly touched as he cuts his cake.

It is around 4.30am by the time the DJs have finished their sets and have been walked back to the lobby of the Grand Copthorne Waterfront hotel, located next to the club.

Some will want a full breakfast before heading to bed but not today. They are going to get what rest they can before flying off to their next gig the same day.

Ms Kokilah is able to clock out at 5am. The sun will be out in a short while but the carpark is filled with employees ending shifts.

There is one thing that she is looking forward to once she gets home. It is one thing to dress up for a night out, but it is a different matter when that night out stretches from 10pm to 5am.

She winces as she rubs her feet.

'I can't wait to get out of these heels, they are killing me,' she says.

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This article was first published in The Straits Times.