Private Dancer

by Stephen Leather

  Mary didn't hesitate. ‘Kill it,’ she said, and put down the phone.

  That's how I felt about Joy. I'd done everything I could, but it seemed that it was never enough, she'd always go back to her old ways, she'd always revert to type. I had to walk away.

  I went home and slept. Bruce woke me up at about six o'clock in the morning. Joy's friend Wan was on the phone. ‘Pete, Joy want see you,’ she said.

  ‘I can't,’ I said.

  ‘You not understand Joy,’ said Wan. ‘That not boyfriend Joy. He sell yar mar.’

  Yar mar was the local name for amphetamines. I'd read about it in the Bangkok Post. Yar mar translated as horse drug, so-called because of the energy it gave users. The police got so fed up with the drug's sexy image that they tried to rechristen it yar bar, crazy drug. It's a big thing among the bargirls, it helps give them the energy to dance all night, and helps them overcome their shyness. Many are addicted. Joy had always denied that she took drugs. But as I'd already discovered, Joy and the truth didn't exactly have a close, personal relationship.

  ‘I'm sorry, Wan, I don't believe her.’

  ‘She speak true, Pete. Joy love you, only you. She say she want to kill herself.’

  I hung up.

  BIG RON

  Pete looked like shit when he came into the bar. He kept talking about ‘the game’, as if what he was doing with Joy was some sort of abstract competition. He's fooling himself. She's destroying him and he can't see it. The sad thing is, he thinks he's winning whatever game it is he's playing. He says the tattoo shows that he's winning the game, because whatever happens she's going to go through the rest of her life with his name on her shoulder. Bollocks. She doesn't give a fuck about that. She's a Buddhist, the body means nothing because next life she'll be back as somebody else anyway. In fact, she probably reckons that she's winning the game because he's behaving so badly: he'll probably return as a fucking cockroach. Life to a Buddhist is all about earning merit in this life to improve your lot in the next. And nothing Pete has done since meeting Joy has earned him any merit, that's for sure.

  He's like a fucking marlin taking on a game fisherman. I bet the marlin thinks he's winning the game as he thrashes around in the water. ‘Look at the boat I've caught,’ the marlin probably thinks. He gets pulled in, and as he's hauled on to the boat he's fucking thrilled to bits. ‘Yeah, look at me, I'm taking over the boat.’ Yeah, right up to the minute he's clubbed to death, the fucking fish probably thinks he's winning the game. Pete just can't see it, but he's taken the bait and she's hauling him in. What a sad fuck.

  PETE

  I was lying on the sofa watching television when Bruce came in, red-faced and practically foaming at the mouth.

  ‘I've fucking had it with you,’ he said.

  I was shocked, because he's usually the most easy-going of guys. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Joy's dead,’ he said.

  I went cold. Like my blood had turned to ice in my veins. Time stopped. It seemed like an eternity before I could speak. ‘No way.’

  Bruce's face was red and his eyes hard. ‘She hanged herself. I'm fucking fed up with you, you've played one mind game too many with that girl.’

  ‘Why do you think she's dead?’ I was stunned. I couldn't believe that Joy would kill herself. It was impossible. Unthinkable.

  ‘Tukkata called this afternoon, while you were out. You're a bastard, Pete. She never did you any harm.’

  ‘And Tukkata said Joy was dead?’

  ‘She said Sunan had called her. One of Joy's friends had phoned Surin and said that Joy had hanged herself. Sunan called Tukkata wanting to know where you were.’

  ‘It doesn't make any sense, Bruce. There'd be no point in Joy killing herself. It's all about money, and there'd be no profit in her killing herself. It's impossible.’

  ‘I'm only telling you what Tukkata told me. I've had a fucking shitty day, Pete, all because of you. First I get the phone call from Tukkata, then I go to Fatso's and everyone's talking about you beating Joy up.’

  ‘I slapped her, I didn't...’

  ‘And you trashed her room, smashed her TV.’

  Big Ron had obviously told everybody. That was my own fault. I'd always known that there are no secrets in Fatso's, everything said there is for public consumption.

  ‘And now she's dead.’ He walked away. I sat at the table, too shocked to move.

  So here I am, sitting in a taxi waiting for a traffic light to turn green, staring with unseeing eyes at three fat tourists feeding bananas to an elephant. I can't think straight. I just keep hearing Bruce's voice rattling around my head. ‘Joy's dead.’

  Part of me didn't believe it, didn't want to believe it, but she'd cut her wrists before and she'd talked about killing herself and coming back to haunt me. Maybe this time she'd done it for real. Maybe she'd done what Mon had done. I closed my eyes and prayed that she wasn't dead. But what if she was? What if she'd hanged herself and what if she'd left a note? She had my name tattooed on her shoulder, for God's sake. She was living in a room I'd paid for. And less than twenty-four hours earlier I'd hit her and trashed her room. What if she'd really done it, where did that leave me? How would I be able to live with myself? How could I?

  Bruce had been right, Joy had never done anything to hurt me. She'd never pretended to be anything other than what she was, a bargirl, and if I'd resented the fact that that was what she was, then that was my problem, not hers. I'd had no right to try to change her life, to try to fit her into a mould of my making. I'd pushed her, I'd pushed her and I'd hit her and if she was really, truly dead then I deserved to be dead, too. I couldn't go on living, not with the knowledge that I'd killed her, that I'd pushed her too far, over the edge.

  The amber light blinked below the red light but it seemed to do it in slow motion and it felt like an eternity before the green light went on. The traffic ahead of us crawled as if it were driving through water. I wanted to shout and scream, to tell the driver to put his foot down, to drive like the wind, but there was nothing I could do other than fight to stay calm, to hold on to what sanity I had left.

  We went by the elephant. ‘Charng,’ said the driver, nodding and pointing. He had a small gold statue of a priest on the dashboard, an impassive, bald old man in a loincloth. What goes around comes around. If she was dead then I was damned, for this life and God alone knows how many more. I was tainted. Black. I didn't deserve to live. Joy had never tried to hurt me, never done anything to harm me. Whenever she got angry at me she'd always turn it inwards, she'd hurt herself. I was the one who'd shouted, who'd sworn. I was the one who'd lashed out. Who'd hit her.

  The cab jolted to a halt. We were at the corner of Soi 71 and Soi DJ. On the way to Joy's room I passed Wan. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn't recognise her at first. I called after her and she came back. ‘Joy?’ I said. I was so muddled I couldn't even form a sentence.

  ‘Big problem,’ she said. She'd been crying.

  The blood seemed to drain from my head. She was dead. Joy was dead.

  I don't know why but I took her hand and together we went to the apartment block. As we got closer, I saw a figure on the balcony, bent over a washing-up bowl. It was Joy. I hurried towards her. She looked up and glared at me but her expression didn't worry me, so strong was the sense of relief that flowed over me. ‘Thank God,’ I said.

  She turned her head away and concentrated on the pair of jeans she was washing.

  JOY

  Was I surprised that Pete came back? No, it was just a matter of time. He was always arguing with me and then making up afterwards. Hot and cold, loving and angry, Pete switches back and forth all the time. He's not consistent. Most farangs I've met have been like that. You never really know where you are with them. One minute they say they love you, the next minute they say they never want to see you again.

  Thai men don't behave that way. Thai men say what they mean, and stick to it. Thai men hardly ever say that they love you, t
hey show that they do and that's all that counts. But if a Thai man does say he loves you, it means he wants to stay with you and take care of you. If a farang says he loves you, it just means he wants to fuck you.

  Pete didn't hurt me when he hit me. Not physically, anyway. I mean, it hurt for a little bit but there wasn't a bruise or anything. Men have always hit me, ever since I was a child. My father used to hit me if I didn't do what he wanted, my teachers used to hit me at school, my brothers used to hit me if they thought I was lazy at home. Park used to hit me when he was drunk. So I wasn't surprised that Pete hit me. That's what men do to women. My father used to hit my mother, too. I used to hear her crying at night. Mon's husband used to hit Mon, and Bird hits Sunan. That's just the way it is in Thailand. Well, that's the way it is in our family, anyway.

  What really upset me is that I hadn't done anything wrong. The guy wasn't a boyfriend, he was just selling me some drugs. I was bored and I wanted a buzz. I called his pager number and he said he'd come around with the stuff. He'd only been there a few minutes when Pete broke down the door. Pete wouldn't listen, it was as if he'd already made up his mind that I was a bad girl and there was nothing I could do or say to convince him otherwise. When he started trashing my room, I ran away. I wasn't scared, and I didn't really mind him breaking the TV and all the rest of the stuff. After all, it was his room, he was paying the rent and other than the clothes, Pete had pretty much paid for everything. So if he decided he wanted to destroy it, well, that was his business.

  That's not to say I wasn't upset, I was. I was angry that he didn't trust me, and that he felt he could control my life. It's like he thought I was a dog, and that because he fed me and gave me a place to live, he could treat me any way he wanted.

  I went around to Wan's room and we drank beer. I kept crying and Wan told me that I was being silly, that I should just forget Pete and go back to Zombie. I could earn more money working in the bar than Pete gave me, and I wouldn't have to worry about what anybody thought. I tried to explain that I was tired of working and that I just wanted someone to take care of me. I was tired of supporting my family, tired of all the demands they kept making on me, tired of my friends asking for money. I wanted to leave Thailand, I wanted to start my life again.

  I went back early in the morning. The flat was a mess. He'd broken everything that could be broken and he'd thrown my clothes on the floor. He'd even torn up the pictures of my family, including the photographs of Mon. I sat in the middle of the room and started crying. What he did wasn't fair. He had no right to tear up the pictures, they were the only ones I had of Mon.

  I heard Wan outside the room, shouting my name. She must have followed me. I went into the bathroom and wrapped a towel around my neck and tied it to the shower, then I dropped to my knees. Was I trying to kill myself? I don't know. I wanted to die, but I didn't want to kill myself. Does that make sense? I wanted Wan and everyone to know how upset I was, but I don't think I really wanted to be dead. I often wondered if Mon really wanted to kill herself, whether she thought we'd realise what she was doing and cut her down before she died. I knew Wan was outside, and I knew she'd come to my room, and the towel wasn't very tight around my neck, so I suppose I wasn't really trying to kill myself. Not really.

  Wan had a key to my room so she let herself in. I'd left the bathroom door open and she started screaming when she saw me. She was with two other girls from Zombie and they untied the towel and helped me down. Wan was crying. I told her I was all right but then I must have fainted. The girls took me to hospital but I was all right really.

  Wan stayed with me while the doctor examined me, but the other girls went away. I guess one of them must have phoned Sunan because when I went home Sunan called me. She said she and our father were in the pick-up with Bird and that they thought I was dead. I said it was all a misunderstanding and that they should just go back to Surin but Sunan said no, she wanted to see me. She was really angry but I wasn't sure if it was because she thought I'd killed myself or because she'd driven all that way for nothing. You never can tell with Sunan.

  PETE

  At first she wouldn't let me touch her, but eventually she put her head against my chest and slipped her arms around my waist.

  ‘Pete, he not my boyfriend. He my drug-dealer. I not have anyone, only you.’

  I rested my chin on the top of her head. She smelt fresh and clean as if she'd just gotten out of the shower. At first what she said didn't register, then the words sank in.

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘He come here to sell me yar mar. Have police too much so he come my room. He not my boyfriend, Pete. I not have Thai boyfriend. I love you too much.’

  ‘Why, Joy? Why did you need yar mar?’

  ‘Because I think too much. I not want to think too much.’

  I sat down on the bed with her. She started crying and I kissed her wet cheeks. ‘You don't need drugs.’

  I looked around her room. A half-packed bag stood by the door. She saw me looking at it. ‘I go back to Surin,’ she said. ‘Sunan come to get me. Then we go Surin. My father worry too much.’

  ‘Why?’

  Her hand went up to her neck. For the first time I saw the red mark there.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘I want kill myself,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you not want to see me.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Same Mon.’ Mon had hanged herself. I stroked the mark on her neck.

  ‘Where?’

  Joy nodded at the bathroom.

  ‘You're crazy,’ I said. She was wearing a brown halter top with a teddy bear on it. I ran my finger around the tattoo on her left shoulder. She really was crazy. Had she really tried to kill herself? It didn't make any sense. She had nothing to gain and everything I knew about Thais suggested that they didn't do anything unless there was a pay-off.

  ‘Why, Joy? Why did you want to kill yourself?’

  She shrugged. ‘Bored,’ she said.

  ‘Bored with what?’

  ‘With my life. With everything.’

  ‘With me?’

  She looked up at me and smiled. ‘I never bored with you, Pete. I love you too much.’

  I kissed her on the lips. Hard. She pulled me back on to the bed.

  DAMIEN

  A lot of the girls take drugs, but I won't allow them to bring them into any of my bars. Any girl caught with drugs is sacked on the spot, and the mamasan usually gives them a clout around the head for good measure. The cops are hard enough to deal with without bringing drugs into the equation. Having said that, most of the girls take drugs. Amphetamines, mainly, but some are on heroin and cocaine. We even have a few on Ecstasy but I try to discourage that. For one thing, it affects the way they dance, and for another, they get all lovey dovey and forget to ask the guys for money. Bloody dangerous, is E, shouldn't be allowed. Bad for business.

  If they're on heroin, the mamasan makes sure they don't inject. No point in marking the merchandise, and a line of scars on the arms isn't exactly a turn on, is it? Some of them inject between their toes or under their fingernails, and that we let go. What the eye doesn't see, blah, blah, blah. The drugs keep them working, you see, and that's all that I care about. A girl with a habit to feed is going to go with as many customers as she can, sometimes several times a night. Every time she leaves the bar with a customer, the bar gets 500 baht. The girl gets 100 baht at the end of the month, and we keep the rest. So if a girl is bought out every night, the bar pulls in 12,000 baht. Good money, huh?

  Usually the girls start on amphetamines. It gives them the energy to dance all night. And the rest. When the girls first come here, they've probably never had sex with a farang. They hear stories about how well endowed we are compared with Thai men and it scares them to death. So the older girls give them yar bar, Dutch courage if you like. Then they don't give a shit who they make love to. Some of them smoke it, others just swallow the t
ablets. So long as they do it outside the bars, I don't care.

  PETE

  After we'd made love she fetched me a glass of water and sat on the edge of the bed as I drank it. I reached up and stroked her neck. The red mark seemed fainter. ‘Why did you want to buy yar mar?’ I asked.

  ‘I think too much. If I smoke yar mar, I not think too much.’

  ‘Smoke? You smoke it?’ I'd assumed that she swallowed the pills.

  She smiled coyly. ‘You want to see?’

  My jaw dropped. ‘You have some?’

  She nodded. ‘You want to see?’

  I wasn't sure. I was interested, but I'd always steered well clear of drugs. And what if the police should find me with drugs? They'd love to put another farang behind bars.

  ‘You want to see?’ she pressed.

  What the hell, I thought. I nodded.

  She stood up and went over to the wardrobe and put a hand into a shirt pocket. She came back and held out her hand as if she was offering sugar lumps to a horse. ‘Yar mar,’ she said.

  There were two small pills wrapped in foil in the palm of her hand. I picked one of them up and unwrapped it. It was smaller than an aspirin, a brownish-pink in colour.

  ‘And you smoke it?’

  She nodded.

  I handed it back to her. ‘Can you show me?’

  ‘You want?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She grinned and took an empty cigarette packet, a cheap cigarette lighter and a pair of nail scissors from her dressing table drawer. She pulled the silver paper from the inside of the cigarette packet and wrapped it around the base of the lighter to form an oblong container. She twisted the end of the paper to make a handle, then pulled out the lighter. She held it up and proudly showed it to me. It was like a miniature pan. She flicked the lighter on and carefully burned off the paper, leaving only the foil, then she blew on it to cool it and put it on the bed. All the time her forehead was creased into a frown as she concentrated on what she was doing.