That Place

by Jay J Carr

  Bangkok-

  23.

  It was the last night in Bangkok and Tod was sitting at the café. It seemed the natural place for him to be. He noticed some of the customers who were regulars, who could be found there on most nights, who were part of this life and mostly he noticed that these customers were still looking lonely and empty.

  It was late after 11, when he looked over and saw Hurtle walking into the ‘boy’ bar. He was about to text him to find out what he was up to but then decided against it. He didn’t feel like explaining why he was sitting in the cafe across the road and knew this would be a point of interrogation and subsequent ridicule.

  He ordered another coffee and stared out into the street and then realized that he should probably go before Hurtle came out. He regretted ordering the coffee and looked around to cancel the order but the waiter was not outside. Next to him he noticed a middle-aged Asian man looking back at him. "Hi," he mouthed.

  "Hey," was the response, but the accent is American.

  Tod had never had to engage in a conversation at the café and this made him nervous but he heard himself say, "Crazy street."

  "Yip," the man replied. "That it is." Tod hoped that this was the end of the conversation but he was wrong.

  "First time to Bangkok?"

  "No," Tod replied." Been here once before."

  "I come twice a year," the man explained. "Love this place. Feels like home to me."

  "Is that so."

  "There is something in the water," he chuckled and then laughed until it dissipated into silence.

  The coffee and waiter appeared at this time and he hoped that Hurtle did not come out before he had finished it. He quickly poured in the cream and sugar and stirred.

  "Been to the new show at Big Boys?"

  Tod looked at him, "No, haven't had the opportunity."

  "You should. Crazy show they have these wild moments. Wild man, wild."

  Tod was getting more uncomfortable and he drank the coffee as quickly as he could. He nodded to the waiter and made the sign for the check.

  "Going to a show tonight?" the man asked.

  "No, tired. Just going to go to bed."

  The check arrived and luckily the waiter was standing in front of him as he saw Hurtle leaving the building with two 'boys'. He wondered what he was up to? He quickly paid and decided to follow at a distance. This was so typical of Hurtle, following a lead and then keeping everyone in the dark. Tod was booked on the early flight to Singapore and he knew he would probably get a call informing him that things had changed at the last minute.

  As he exited the Soi he noticed Hurtle walking ahead with the two 'boys' following behind him.

  He saw them weave between the crowds up ahead and then change direction as they moved towards a quieter street. It was then that he realised that Hurtle was entering a ‘pay by the hour’ hotel with the two ‘boys’ in tow. He made sure to stand in the shadows and watch as Hurtle paid for the room not before he touched each of the ‘boys’ buttocks and then slide his hand into the one ‘boy’s’ trousers.

  Tod took out his phone ready to film what he saw. Hurtle’s hands continued to prod around the back of the ‘boy’s’ trousers as he pushed them towards the elevator. He stood transfixed unable to do anything.

  Actually it was none of his business. Before long he was in a taxi and hotel bound.

  Part 3

  Singapore-

  1.

  The arrival into Singapore is as Penelope Tan explained. He is ushered off the plane and into a mobile trolley, which whisks him off to the VIP area. It is not a lounge like in New Jersey; this one is an entire area shielded from the other passengers and includes various individual smaller seating spaces and a bathroom with showers.

  There is someone there to meet him. He smiles and says, “Professor Cunningham welcome to Singapore. My name is Albert.”

  He smiles at Albert and politely says, “Hello, Albert.”

  “If I could please have your passport. I will ensure that all formalities are taken care of. In the meantime can we get you some coffee, or another drink if you prefer?”

  “Coffee, thank you.”

  He is shown into one of the private booths and Albert disappears.

  How the ‘other half’ lives, hidden and always running away from the rest of the ‘masses’. He might have paid for it but he doesn’t like it. This is not him and it never can or will be.

  The coffee arrives, there are also some pastries on a plate and before he can say thank you, he is alone.

  He sips the coffee and feels the warm liquid in his mouth. While randomly selecting a pastry he thinks back to a holiday in France. Roaming the French countryside in an old Citroen - stopping in the morning for croissants and coffee and enjoying the banter in French with the locals. Charles with his sophisticated accent, and him with his ‘I learnt French using a tape’ accent. The taste of coffee and a croissant on the palate.

  Albert is back and almost stands at attention in front of him. “Professor Cunningham, now that all the formalities have been taken care of, I thought it best to run over the transfer to the hotel. We have sent your passport to the hotel, so that you can be checked in and they will return it to your room. We have a car waiting and you will be able to access it directly from this area. Once you arrive at the hotel, you will be taken through the service entrance, to the service lift and then onto your floor. The hotel has confirmed that they will be placing you in the penthouse suite, which is located on the top floor. Do you have any questions?”

  He didn’t. Everything was so well explained that you didn’t have to think. Where were these people trained that they were so precise?

  As he stands up he says, “Thank you once again, Albert. It is much appreciated.”

  “It is only our pleasure, Professor Cunningham.”

  He is shown to the waiting car and strapped into the back seat. Before he can say good-bye the car is already in motion and the door has been closed.

  Having visited many times, the drive from Changi airport into the city is familiar and he is able to identify landmarks. It was the times, in this city that no one has discovered. He is thankful that he is here and that there is a code of discretion. The hotels he had stayed in, the men who had visited him, the experiences that he had here.

  As they drive over the bridge and into the Marina area, he looks over to the hotel that he had the most memorable experience in. He was Indonesian, handsome, a muscular body and filled with a softness - the touch of the man’s skin against his, the scent of his body, the fingers gently nudging him. That memory no one can take away. No one has access to it.

  How do you explain this to people? The simple joy of being touched – being stroked in a way that did not judge you; did not consider your looks; did not consider if you were fat or thin; did not consider if you were Asian or Caucasian; did not consider if you were somebody of significance or not. And the sex, the beautiful sex as his body ignited. It was consensual. It was right, wasn’t it?

  The car pulls up to a small road; it is the back of the hotel. The door opens and there is another face, “Welcome to Singapore, Professor Cunningham. I will be assisting you to your suite.”

  He notices that no name is used; clearly there is a difference between the airline and the rest of the ‘role-players’ in this charade. He walks towards the elevator, which is close to the door. There is not another soul to be seen. As this is a tall building, the ride up to the top floor is long and silent.

  The elevator opens and he is ushered through a door and into the passageway of the hotel. It is now that he sees others, not on the same floor as him but in the atrium which extends all the way up through the hotel. They are small and he notices how frenetic their movement is. This is in direct contrast to a calming music – which is piped through the hotel not loudly but quietly in the walls and floors.

  There is a door in front of him and the lady opens it with an electronic key. She walks through the suite expl
aining the various amenities and equipment. He does not concentrate on what she is saying until he hears, “Sorry, as your personal assistant is not with you, is there anything else I can assist you with?”

  He is confused, then realises this is linked to the story he constructed and still has to play out. “No, thank you. You have been very kind.”

  “One last thing, would you like our staff to access your lounge without announcing themselves?”

  What does that even mean? He can’t ask? It is something that ‘VIP’s’ would know. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “In that case, please don’t hesitate to call on us. Enjoy your stay.”

  He is still confused by the last statement and wonders what he has agreed to. Whatever it is, he can stop it if he doesn’t like it.

  He looks out the windows; the view is over the whole of Singapore and as he looks identifies hotels along with the experiences he has had at them.

  When he opens the balcony door, the real temperature can be felt rather than the icy cold of the suite. He walks to the end of the balcony and looks down. It is far away. He is elevated high above the ground below. There is a small table and chairs and a telescope neatly placed next to each other. There is no need for the telescope; all he needs to see is what lies in front of him.

  Now that he is here, he is awaiting the thoughts to come into his head of what he is going to do. There is nothing - no voice, no idea - just silence. That is okay he thinks as long as there is quiet, he can rest and recuperate and be.

  He goes inside and looks for the numbers on the phone to call room service for a coffee. But there is only one extension and one button. He pushes it hoping that it will connect to something. “Mr Cunningham, how can we assist you?”

  Discomfort at the efficiency. “I would like to order a cappuccino and a … don’t worry just a cappuccino.”

  “Certainly, it’s on its way.”

  Not even two minutes later he hears the door lock grind, as these electronic door locks do. The staff member glides in, not looking around, and places the cappuccino on the coffee table. There is a quick exit, followed by the ring of the phone. He sound startles him. Should he answer it?

  “Hello.”

  “Mr Cunningham, your cappuccino has been delivered.”

  “Um … yes … thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” The phone goes dead.

  This will need some time to get used to. It is a bit too much but then perfect as he can be alone.

  He fetches the cappuccino and walks back to the balcony. It is while he is sitting there that he decides what he is going to do.

  The cold air floods him as he opens the door. He fetches a pen and paper from inside and returns to the table. He makes a list of all the hotels he has stayed in. Over the next few hours or days he is going to try and remember all of the experiences with men, in all of the countries. He is going to describe the men - their looks and nationalities and stories. Smiling, he now knows that he has some purpose.

  Singapore-

  2.

  "He is here", Myrtle Chang exclaimed excitedly, as she spotted him exiting the customs area.

  "Hi, Myrtle," Tod said, as he pushed his trolley laden with luggage towards her.

  "I am serious."

  The realization started to sink in. "Is it an actual confirmed siting?”

  "Twitter is abuzz with the news that he was spotted and there is a photograph to prove it, okay! He was on a flight bound from New Jersey to Singapore. There is even this really funny picture of him - okay that was not the correct word – a selfie. Let's start again … It’s with one of the airline crew. It's one of those selfies, where not all participants know they are being photographed and he looks like a deer that is about to get killed as he looks at the menu. It’s from the galley looking back, so he had no clue it was being taken.” She chortled in a really sweet way unlike Hurtle's cackle.

  Everything about Myrtle was better than Hurtle and she was really professional and efficient. Myrtle covered Singapore and Malaysia independent of Hurtle and six months before he had been lucky to work with her on a story about Singapore billionaires and their hidden stash.

  "Why did he come here?" Tod was confused.

  "To meet you," Myrtle said, before breaking out into a new fit of laughter.

  Tod managed a smile and then had to think about this one. Surely, it did not make sense to go to a region where there were rumors circulating about you - but then come to think of it Singapore had not been mentioned.

  "I really wonder why?" Tod said to her. "We need to get an interview. Myrtle there is something here we need to uncover. What do you think it is?”

  Myrtle had stopped laughing and looked at him intently. "I am working on it. Have looked at all the escort services online that cover Singapore and have contacted a few. Waiting on them to come back to me."

  "Good," he said. "Where is he staying?"

  "Not sure yet but as soon as I know I will use every connection that I have."

  Singapore-

  3.

  The pages are strewn all over the room. He has written and torn them out and written some more but he cannot trust his memory, it will not allow him access to all of the experiences. It is hiding some of them. His brain is hiding them.

  Fatigue has set in. He has dozed off to sleep on the floor amongst the papers.

  He is standing naked in a room; there is a man there with him. He smiles and the man smiles back. Then there are more men walking in and soon there are hundreds of naked men in front of him. No one says a thing, no one moves.

  Slowly he comes out of the dream and looks around. Where is this room? He is in a strange room. The room does not matter. He knows now what he must do. All the experiences need to be put in order. The hotel name is not important anymore, the experience of what happened with the ‘boy’ is. He once more collects the papers and feels his body burning - he is so hot and he doesn’t know why? Water, he needs water. After quenching his thirst, he starts to fumble with the pages.

  The order. The order is important then he can know what he did and who did what, and …

  He has not gone out in four days. The plates of food have disappeared and he has ordered and drank more coffee than he would in a month. He doesn’t care. No one is watching him. He is answering to himself. VIP, he is a VIP.

  Hours go by, more frantic writing; more images popping into his head … some are only of penises and no faces. After he has written some of the experiences and there is some order, some logic in his mind and on the floor, he once again drifts into sleep.

  They keep saying that he has won a prize. But I didn’t enter he says. You have won the lottery. He laughs; it is a laugh of sarcasm. The lady hands over the money, it is all in cash and there are lots of banknotes. He is being covered with bills and he can’t breathe and shouts at her to stop. But there is no longer a lady, only a drag queen in her place licking the money and then throwing it on him.

  He is a rock star, everyone wants him to sing. He doesn’t want to. They are outside his trailer at the concert banging on the door, telling him to come out. ‘Fuck you,’ he yells and then the door breaks and hundreds of fans come in.

  He is talking to people, there are lots of flashes and he is talking about himself. He is talking about being a person, who is not good. The words come out but what he says and what he thinks is not the same thing. The words are words, his thoughts are thoughts.

  It is a Soi, there is the bar and he is drinking coffee in the restaurant across from it. There is a man next to him. The man hugs him and gently massages his leg. He likes that feeling, of being touched, of the gentle massage. ‘I love you,’ he says. The man says, ‘I love you too.’

  He is now in a different place, watching a drag queen dance with his testicles strapped back to mimic a vagina. ‘I don’t like vagina,’ he shouts. ‘I have a cock is the reply.’

  He is now in New Jersey, he is in the community park, he is naked and is in the community park, he
is being chased by a snake. Not just any snake a giant snake that keeps opening its mouth and showing its teeth. The snake is getting closer. It starts to eat his buttocks and he can feel it devouring him. He tries to scream but no sound escapes.

  He is now in a quiet place. He is calm. There are only a few people here. It feels safe and he can breathe. He notices how he breathes, each breath in, the act of inhaling, each breath out, the act of exhaling. The consciousness of when to take the next breath. When one notices that one has to inhale and is conscious of it, then it is much harder to breathe.

  Why are the people staring at him? He is naked again. He is naked and there is blood all over his stomach and genitals. He tries to touch himself to find out where the blood has come from. He can’t find the source of the blood. He starts to panic and is pulling at his skin but this causes it to break and parts of it fall off. This should not be happening. He lets out a scream, he needs to alert someone, he needs to be helped, he needs to be in a hospital.

  When he wakes up he is completely disoriented. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. It is hard to process thoughts; his head is throbbing and his body is scorched. He crawls to the bathroom; he turns on the water in the shower, grabs his feet and lying like a fetus rocks slowly as the cool water runs off him.

  Singapore-

  4.

  Myrtle showed him the various tweets and pictures doing the circuit. The first thing that Tod noticed was that he looked terrible - there were huge black circles under his eyes, not even rings, and his whole face was sunken and hollow, as if he was undergoing some major treatment for a serious illness.

  "Look at what he looks like," he said to Myrtle.

  "I know."

  "It's like he is really sick?"

  "Yes, and people are speculating that he has AIDS, or some sexual disease and is dying ... Read some of these comments."

  He scrolled through the various comments she wanted to show him and he read what people were saying and it was harsh. He wondered how much of this stuff landed back in Cunningham's own social media programmes. How he felt reading about himself like that.