A Woman of Bangkok

by Jack Reynolds

  Not that she particularly needed any cash now that Dick had settled up with her. But making money was the most engrossing pursuit she knew of and it alone had the power to keep horror at bay until you were drunk. Already she had found it was unsafe to sit idle and alone for a single second. And one grisly idea kept jumping into her mind in the middle of a dance, a drink, or a laugh—‘He may have died. He may already have died.’ This idea had been even harder to keep off since just before Dick came in, for then, going towards the bar while the band played ‘Sleepy Lagoon’ she’d thought she heard a faint cry—‘Mama’—up amongst the coloured lanterns—his ghost come seeking her here in the midst of all her shame. She’d nearly fallen, and against all her principles had had to order a whisky without having a prospective purchaser of it in view. Then Dick had come, and of course paid for this one and another. But she didn’t want to hear that ghost again, or be left to herself for a single second: she must have her mind continually distracted.

  Luckily there was no shortage of men tonight. The drinks had given her animation and she knew she was looking superb in her ivory-white full-skirted dress. (She’d had to be her own maid after Bochang had finally left for the hospital.) Several men danced with her and bought her drinks at the bar. None secured her to themselves for an hour and that was just as well, for there were always pauses in an hour-long tête-à-tête which tonight she was determined to avoid at all costs.

  Almost an hour after Dick had left, the nice-looking hotel-boy returned with another envelope from Wretch. There was no letter this time but there was a hundred-tic note. She put it into her handbag with a sense of deep satisfaction. Four hundred already tonight for nothing. Plus all the chits for drinks and dances that were going down to her name. ‘Tell him I will come as soon as I can,’ she told the boy. ‘I think twelve-thirty, but I may be late. And if I don’t come tonight then definitely tomorrow … What was the name of that hotel again?’

  At two-thirty in the morning she kept her promise.

  She’d had an excellent night. She’d danced and drunk and chattered till eleven-thirty. Then a group of business men who’d been pretty boisterous and had already made several attempts to get her to join them had jettisoned that Black Leopard from their midst and so she had yielded to their persuasions. She’d already noticed that money was abundant at their table and that bottles of bourbon were arriving full and being carried empty away with a speed and regularity that foretold easy pickings later on for even the dumbest type of girl. An old customer, a round-shouldered chinless blond with extremely high-powered spectacles, had made the introductions. He was quite tight. ‘Hi, Leopard,’ he’d shouted, staggering to his feet and grasping her hand and shaking it warmly but then trying to encircle her with a familiar arm—‘Hi, Senator, hi, Senator—’ He’d had a great deal of difficulty in disengaging the Senator’s mind from another girl whose knee he’d got hold of but finally the flushed, moon-shaped face had swung round. ‘Hi, Senator, she’s here. The number one lay in Bangkok, in the Orient, in the world! The Whi’ Leopard I been telling you about all ni’. Hi, Senator, meet the Whi’ Leopard, the number one lay in Bangkok, in the Orient, in the world I figure—’

  When midnight came the party had been divided about what it should do with itself next. Chinless had vociferously insisted that the Senator must be guided to the Leopard’s den by himself. ‘Only the great deserve the fair,’ he had shouted, and as this had made the others laugh and clap the first time he said it, he’d repeated it twenty times getting no further laughs but his own. Some of the others had been of the opinion however that what the Senator needed first was a few more drinks. ‘It’s too early to go to bed, even with the number one lay in Bangkok, in the world, in the universe,’ one of them had said—the nicest-looking of the lot—with a sly smile at her, which clearly set themselves as two individuals aside from and above this drunken rabble, and she’d returned the smile and said ‘Why we not go Champagne Bucket?’ and the suggestion had been jubilantly taken up.

  She’d lost the Senator and Chinless but she herself had got into a big American car and after a crushed and dangerous ride during which her dress was torn at the waist she’d arrived with four or five men and a couple of other Bolero girls at the Champagne Bucket. And the man who’d taken the seat next to hers was the nice dark quiet one with the sleeked hair and the sly companionable grin, the one who was easily the pick of the bunch.

  The party spirit hadn’t survived transplantation any too well however and soon one man and one girl had disappeared and shortly after that everybody else went except for the nice dark man and another man who was almost as nice. Even these two kept on yawning and though they both danced with her once or twice they showed more inclination to talk together, mostly about what they thought about the Senator. She’d found she was getting left out and that was just what she couldn’t stand tonight. She’d looked at her watch. One-thirty. Goddam early. Should she try for one of these two or someone else in the place? Or go to Wretch? It would be a bore going back across the city by samlor to search for that hotel. And then Wretch would be sympathetic instead of distracting. He’d tend to concentrate her mind on her troubles instead of diverting it from them. She groaned inwardly. This was the usual interlude of despondency that descended on her briefly in the small hours, only tonight it was worse than usual …

  Then another American had come up and clapped the other two on their shoulders and had his own clapped back and had asked if he might make use of the amenities since they seemed to be neglecting them. He’d trod on her toes and held her too low down. When the dance was over she’d gone to the toilet and after releasing a lot of beer and whisky characteristically examined herself in the glass. Her lips had needed renovation and there, when she opened the bag, on top of everything else had been Wretch’s letter. She’d opened it and looked at it although it was incomprehensible to her. In a way he was nice. And he’d sent that money and here it was. And he might be good for more yet. And it would be wrong to break your word to a man who was good to you. The Buddha would be displeased. And He mustn’t be displeased in any way whilst Udom was still in danger …

  She hadn’t bothered to go back to the others to say goodbye. Let them gabble on about their fat old assuin! She’d slipped out of the side-door and into one of the fifty waiting samlors.

  ‘Vilai!’

  No doubt about his delight at seeing her. If he’d been Chokchai he’d have collapsed on his side wagging all over. And curiously she was pleased to see him too. His hair was tousled and his eyes were heavy with sleep and his torso soared nude and beautiful out of his western-style pyjama trousers which had green and white stripes on them. She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. He was blond and she hated blonds, he was too young, he was poor, and worst of all, he was romantically infatuated. He seemed dazed with his good fortune and didn’t know what to do first. In the end he shut and locked the door and came and fell on his knees before her. ‘Vilai,’ he groaned, like a man who sees God.

  She got up out of the chair she’d plumped into and pushed past him and examined the bed and the wash handbasin and the hongnam and herself in the full-length wardrobe mirror, ‘This room nice,’ she said, turning from side to side before the glass so that her skirts whirled back and forth.

  ‘I suppose it is. But I never realized it till this minute.’

  ‘Why you not have that?’—indicating the fan, and as he got up off his knees to start it, ‘I go pee-pee.’

  She did so on the tiled floor with the proper place to perform the function only a yard away. She threw water about and when she came back into the room he was combing his hair.

  ‘You haff somesing for me to eat?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no.’

  ‘Not d’ink neither?’

  ‘There’s water.’ He indicated a flagon with a tumbler on it.

  She touched it. ‘Not cold.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  She sat dow
n on one of the hard wooden chairs. There were a few letters on the low wooden table and she riffled through them but there was nothing of interest—nothing in Thai, no pictures. He dragged the fan up on a stool so that it blew directly on her. Then once again he sank onto his knees before her.

  She lifted and angled her legs and pulled her skirts up to her hips. She had on tight pink panties with white lace inserts. A hair or two emerged and she snatched one out with a gasp and a laugh, and then rubbed the injured spot.

  ‘Vilai, have you had any news of Udom?’

  It was just what she’d feared. He was going to try to make her face her troubles instead of helping her to ignore them. She flared up. ‘I not want you talk Udom. He not your son—why you must worry to him? He my son, but I not worry.’

  He said, ‘Vilai, there’s no need to act with me. I saw it happen and I know what you must be feeling. I asked you here because I can give you sympathy. I won’t try to—to make you tonight, darling; I’m not so insensitive. I want you to get on the bed, and I’ll just take the two blankets which you won’t need. I’ll be able to sleep on the floor quite comfortably, and in the morning—’

  She said, ‘How much you give me?’

  His head jolted backwards. ‘What for?’

  ‘For come here tonight.’

  He looked at her, hurt, a moment, then he said gently, ‘You don’t understand, darling. I’ve just said I don’t want to—do anything tonight. I’ve asked you here because I’m your friend, to, to save you from all that—’

  She said, sticking to her guns: ‘You giff me five hunderd?’

  Suddenly he was blazing with anger. He leapt to his feet and unlocked the door and flung it open. ‘Lakon,’ he grated.

  That meant ‘Goodbye forever’ but she continued to sit on the chair with her legs up and her skirts too, rolling her hips about and humming.

  He shut the door with a slam again and marched up and down the room a few times and then stopped in front of her to harangue her furiously. ‘God damn and blast you to all eternity! You haven’t got a soft spot in your make-up anywhere. You don’t care tuppence for your son, or for anyone else who loves you—’

  She said, ‘Please sit down.’ She waved to the other armchair the other side of the table and in the end he dropped into it, though still fuming. Then she said rationally, ‘Wretch, you nice boy, but all the time must angly to me. I not like that. Man like me, must be good to me. He not like, must not ask me come he house. Fight all the time, no good. No good him, no good me … You haff cigalette giff me?’

  He shook his head.

  She laughed. ‘Wretch good boy, I sink. Not haff nussing in he house for giff girl.’ She found a cigarette in her bag and went on: ‘Tonight Saturday night. Many men at the Bolero. Many men want White Leopard, I sink. I sink, I go wiss them, I get many hunderd tic. But Wretch send letter say he want me, so I not go wiss usser man. I come see Wretch—’

  ‘And a damn’ long time it took you to get here, too.’

  ‘Could not find hotel, darling. Samlor-boy not know. He take me many place not right, I must pay him sirty tic. Much trouble to me.’

  ‘What’s the time now?’ He could have looked at his own watch but he roughly grabbed at her wrist and she allowed him to hold it. ‘Yes, you’ve certainly done some searching all right. Must have been all over Bangkok. It’s taken you more than four hours to get here since I sent you that hundred tics. For which by the way you haven’t said thank you yet.’

  He jumped up and again started tramping about. She smoked quietly for a minute, then she said, ‘If you my husband, yes, of course I come your house when you ask me, for nussing. But you not my husband—’

  ‘Why d’you come here then?’

  ‘Because last time you very good to me. Pay me well. Buy me many d’ink. I sink tonight maybe same. But you buy nussing. Not even cigalette.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘And I come this hotel. Not good for me to come hotel, darling. If you not pay me what I do? I not know policeman here. But if at my house, you not pay, I call policeman, he come quick quick quick—’ She laughed.

  ‘He gets a cut off it too, does he?’

  She had been casting her eyes around the room and now she located his discarded clothes on the towel rack. She got up and looked in his shirt pocket. Only small notes, as she’d expected. She felt his wallet in his trousers pocket and carried the garment back to the armchair and sat down again. He made an attempt to prevent her opening the wallet but it was only halfhearted. She began searching through the compartments for hundreds.

  He said, ‘I’m damned if I’ll stand for this. Put that wallet back immediately.’

  She laughed and lifted her legs up again. ‘I not take nussing. I just look see.’

  He resorted to force and that was of course poor strategy on his part for the moment his flesh brushed against her his energy was diverted from protecting his money to other matters. He was suddenly kissing her arms and legs and any other parts he could reach and while she wriggled to keep his interest up she got the wallet opened in the right place.

  ‘A-a-ah …’

  She stopped wriggling and he buried his face in her belly, trembling.

  There were six red notes. She took the five cleanest ones and put them in her bag. He never looked up.

  While his head was still pressed into her stomach she crushed out her cigarette in his perfectly empty ashtray. She looked down at the back of his neck which was a choleric red, like so many fair men’s, between the yellow hair and the whiteness of his back. Then she tapped his shoulder. ‘Come on, Wretch. Take a bass. Clean your teece. Make your-self smell good.’

  He seemed to think it was unnecessary but of course he did her bidding. When he emerged from the bathroom she was already under the mosquito netting. She had taken off her dress and was in pants and bra only, smiling at him.

  ‘Christ, you’ve got a lovely figure, Vilai.’

  ‘Yours good too. Turn fan this way, darling. It so hot.’

  Fundamentally one man’s love-making was exactly like another’s and that increased the dullness of it. It very seldom happened that a man was able to stimulate in her a passion commensurate with his own. Usually she pretended successfully enough that they did, with the result that her fame had gone round the world. But the groans, the head-rollings, the beating of the bed with doubled fists, were all part of routine, like a dancer’s movements in the classical dance, and if there was any emotion in them at all it was impatience.

  But just occasionally some combination of circumstances would predispose her body unpredictably to be genuine in its responses. It was in these embraces that she had earned the name of Leopard, rather than in her ruthless prowlings at the Bolero. Any man who had happened to be the lucky agent provocateur on such an occasion was unlikely ever to forget his good fortune.

  Tonight was such a night. She’d been dimly aware for some hours that it would be. The day had been one long assault on her emotions. Udom’s ridiculous loyalty to his princess: that had made her cry in the first place, had filled her heart with pride and shame and consuming but thwarted love for her son. Then seeing him hurt before her eyes. And then all Wretch’s goodness to her. Of course she didn’t let that fool her altogether; she told herself he wasn’t entirely disinterested; what man ever is when a beautiful woman is the object of his benevolence? He wanted to sleep with her again. And his attitude a few minutes ago had shown that he was hoping that in view of his helpfulness this afternoon he’d be let off paying for the privilege. Men were all the same: they thought if they put themselves out for you the slightest little bit they merited a reward. But such services were to be regarded strictly as extras, like handbags and tins of expensive cigarettes. They were no substitute for money. Usually she had difficulty in putting this point of view across, but Wretch seemed to have grasped it at once. That was another reason for her receptive state. Wretch was unutterably nice. He was short-tempered of course, but he was ge
nerous within his means, he was adoring, good-looking, clean, and humbler in his manner than most men. Chokchai came into her mind once again: this boy had the same innocence and the same unspeakable delight in pleasing. She wanted to cuddle and kiss him, as she would the pup, out of gratitude for his affection, his youth, and his beauty. So the minute he got into bed with her she put her arms round him and kissed him on the mouth. That was something she rarely did to any man. But tonight she’d known she must. And she’d already wiped her lipstick off in preparation, while he was bathing.

  After she’d washed herself she put on her brassiere and tied one of his towels around her waist and lay down beside him again. He promptly rolled over and clasped her but she shook him off. ‘No. Now I slip. What time now?’

  ‘Nearly four.’

  ‘Wake me five o’clock. Must go home before light.’

  ‘Stay here, Vilai darling. I have the car this weekend. I can take you to the hospital—’

  ‘Not haff clo’es.’

  ‘We can send the boy. Or fetch them in the car.’

  ‘No, I go home.’ She took both pillows for herself and made herself comfortable. ‘Not want you tutss me, darling. It so hot.’

  ‘Anything you say.’ He moved away but a few seconds later his body was touching hers again, unobtrusively but annoyingly.

  She lay on her side, curled up, with her back to him. Completely tired out and sexually replete she’d expected to drop asleep at once but now she lay staring into the blackness outside the dim whitish smear of the net and she knew sleep was still a long way off. Wretch wasn’t sleeping either. Every time she moved a little he made a reverent adjustment of his own body to fit hers lightly but persistently.

  ‘Why you not slip?’

  ‘Me? Good God, Vilai! Do you realize this is the first time in my twenty-seven years I’ve actually slept with a woman—I mean, just lying down peacefully beside her with my eyes closed? Do you think I’m going to waste a single precious second of such bliss in unconsciousness? This is the climax of my life, this is peace, this is what I’ve been seeking, without properly knowing it, ever since I first got impatient of my mother’s fondlings when I was around six or seven, I suppose—’