Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  ‘Must be cool being a company director.’

  ‘No, it’s hands-on stuff … working all hours to keep afloat. Got a big overdraft and if there’s cash flow problems, we’d go down in a big way. I’m on a treadmill … impossible to sell up at the moment.’

  ‘Do you actually like the work though?’ Ben thought it sounded awful.

  ‘Sometimes … it’s what I do. And do you like your work?’

  ‘Don’t know yet … I’ve only just graduated.’

  ‘Lucky guy … it’s all ahead of you then. But choosing a career isn’t easy, is it?’

  ‘Haven’t really tried,’ said Ben cagily, quite glad Jack seemed to like the sound of his own voice.

  ‘When I started out in business with my “ex”, we made a conscious choice … it was going to be something in tourism or residential care. We decided old people are more important. And the demand’s always guaranteed!’

  ‘Great if that’s what you like doing.’

  ‘It was fine for a time but it’s not that easy keeping up the ideal. When margins get tight, you can’t do a first rate job. Keeping staff’s a problem too, though I’ve got a good manager. That’s what lets me get away every year and keeps me sane … well anyroad, somewhere between daft as a brush and barking mad.’ Jack thoughtfully fingered the generous folds of his double chin.

  ‘So why do you come out here so often then?’ asked Ben.

  ‘It’s the best antidote to death and decay. Working with old people all the time gets you down. And it’s always grey outside with the rain running down the windows, so I can forgive myself escaping for a bit.’

  ‘Sure, but why Thailand?’

  ‘You know why, Ben! Beautiful country and all that … but it’s for the women of course.’

  Ben was amazed at his frankness.

  ‘Got a Thai girlfriend, then?’

  ‘Yes of course … always have.’

  ‘You mean not the same one?’

  ‘Never the same one.’

  Ben was not quite sure what to say.

  ‘So what’s it you like so much about them?’ was all he could think of.

  ‘Well, their only demands are on my pocket … any emotional hang-ups and I move on. They’re like healers and therapists and make me feel good about myself. The warmth and friendship’s the best bit.’

  ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, Jack … but surely they’re only with you for the money.’

  ‘No offence, lad. But please they’re not just prostitutes, they’re courtesans with real finesse … never use their mobiles or the remote while I roger’em. Not like the short-time girls.’

  Ben was getting even more sceptical.

  ‘Yes, but I’m still not sure you can buy their friendship.’

  ‘No, you can’t, so I try to deserve it. But then again as the Buddhists say, everything in life’s illusory, so maybe friendship’s an illusion anyway. Though I tell you, Ben … a Thai girl in my bed feels real enough to me.’

  ‘It all sounds too good to be true,’ said Ben with unintended irony.

  ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you, Ben, lad,’ said Jack. ‘You can easily find a girl at your age, but I couldn’t cope without my annual break. These women bring my stress levels down and set me up for another year’s work.’

  ‘I get your meaning, but can you really value their friendship?’

  ‘Look at it this way, Ben … I saw my parents through their last illnesses, so I really know what old age and dying’s all about. Back home the families are grateful for what I do for their old folks and think I’m wonderful … it never occurs to them I only do it for the money. And I value what the girls do for me too even though I pay them … it’s exactly the same.’

  ‘Never looked at it like that,’ said Ben, playing with his spoon and fork.

  ‘I’m paid to care for the old folk and it burns me out, so I take a break and give a Thai girl a bit of cash to sort me out. Same same as the Thais say … sex and death are both pretty intimate.’ Jack savoured his green curry sauce with the last of the rice.

  ‘But Jack, you can pay for sex anywhere, can’t you?’

  ‘Well, as I say, it’s not just about sex. I need a good cuddle, to have my back scratched … these girls are so good at the pampering side. They’re farmers’ daughters, young and optimistic, not hard-bitten bitches, and they seem to enjoy the whole thing. It’s like having a real girlfriend without any of the hassle.’

  ‘But what about them? How do they recharge?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Maybe by not doing it for too long … their shelf-life’s quite short.’

  ‘Some of them look worn out to me.’

  ‘Funny thing,’ said Jack, ignoring Ben’s comment. ‘There’s plenty of male prostitutes in Bangkok and the female sex workers use’em a lot. As I said, if you’re in the caring professions, you need to be cared for too.’

  ‘Prostitution! One of the caring professions!’ said Ben, much amused.

  ‘That’s just what it is,’ said Jack. ‘And Ben, the green curry … it’s sensational.’

  There was a lull before Ben dared ask a more personal question.

  ‘So you don’t ever get involved with the girls, emotionally I mean?’

  ‘No, can’t afford to … it’d be a disaster for both of us. It’s not that I don’t care about them. I’m courteous and kind … never ask them to do anything I wouldn’t‘ve asked the wife, and I keep it safe. And I give’em a good time … go to the beach, have a real little honeymoon. But then I make it clear we’ll probably never see each other again and that’s that. Am I shocking you, Ben?’

  ‘Well it’s certainly a new angle on it.’

  ‘Look Ben, this isn’t a perfect world, but if they’re sex workers by choice and aren’t getting shafted by the big bosses, it’s not so bad a job. We both enjoy it.’

  ‘And after you’ve said goodbye to your sex goddess, you go back to the old biddies!’

  ‘Yes, the opposite ends of the life cycle … young women in their prime and physical wrecks seeing out their last days. Life in the raw!’

  ‘Bizarre, isn’t it,’ said Ben. ‘At home we spend shed loads keeping the senile alive, while here the girls risk their health for the price of a few drinks.’

  Jack seemed lost in thought for a moment as Ben finished eating.

  ‘Since I’ve chuntered on about Thai women so much,’ he said, ‘maybe I can show you some of the local bars and girlie places.’

  ‘But it’s going to be dry tonight. Alcohol’s banned on election day.’

  ‘Don’t believe that one, you ninny. We’ll be served alright.’

  ‘Yes okay, I’d like to,’ said Ben without hesitation.

  ‘Let’s go to Freddie’s Massage Parlour. It’s got a goldfish bowl … where you choose your woman through a glass window.’

  ‘Guess I’m up for anything.’

  ‘You’re on then. We’ll finish off your education with a doctorate. How’d you like to be a Doctor of Philandery … from the University of Life?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to the practicals,’ said Ben as they got up and left the restaurant.

  19

  They walked up the soi together, Ben the fresh Geography graduate and Jack Russell, the round-bellied little terrier, company director and care home proprietor, both looking forward to a night out rutting for bar girls. They came to a doorway at the foot of a tall building where a simple sign said one word, “Freddies”. As they went inside and climbed a blind stairway Ben heard a buzzer going off. Passing through a glass door into fierce air conditioning, he found himself in a bar empty of people other than a Thai barman. A tank in which a large silver fish was languidly swimming caught his eye.

  ‘That’s an arowana,’ said Jack. ‘Very expensive, and they’re supposed to be lucky.’

  ‘It looks so sad and ugly,’ said Ben.

  ‘But I bet they take more care of it than the women in the goldfish bowl.’

  As Ben glanced aroun
d, an older Thai women in a short red dress appeared from a door behind the bar, her painted face creased into a synthetic smile.

  ‘Welkaam, Pompui. Been long time,’ she said, taking Jack’s hand. ‘Who you friend?’

  ‘This is Ben. I’ve brought him to see you.’

  She pointed her hand at Ben like a pistol and gave him a damp handshake.

  ‘You drink first, then come see girls,’ she said and walked away.

  As they went over to the bar Ben saw the goldfish bowl for the first time. At the far end of the room was a large plate glass window behind which about twenty women were sitting in rows. They were in bright red dresses, quite formal and old-fashioned, none of them revealing. Most were young, though he guessed some of the older ones were the wrong side of forty. Sitting on red-carpeted steps like a mini-amphitheatre, they were not talking or smiling, just staring into space. Ben’s eyes were standing out on stalks. This was a shop window; these women were for sale.

  They sat down at the bar and ordered beers and to Ben’s amusement the barman served them without question, election or no election.

  ‘Looks as if you’ve been here before,’ he said to Jack.

  ‘Aye lad, suppose I have, once or twice.’

  ‘What was it she called you? Pompey or something.’

  ‘Pompui. It’s like “fatso” … means you look prosperous, so I’m quite chuffed.’

  ‘But I can’t get over the goldfish bowl. What’s on offer?’

  ‘Want to find out?’ teased Jack.

  ‘I’m still stone cold sober!’ protested Ben.

  ‘Well, this is what they call a massage parlour! Get my meaning?’

  ‘It’s not like the place I had a massage this morning.’

  ‘No, they’re different. Thai massage is straight and serious, but here you pay your thousand baht and choose a girl, she takes you to a private room with showers and soap and away you go. If she gets you to heaven, you give her something for the extras. It’s as simple as that. If you want to take her out, you’ll have to pay the bar.’

  At that moment the barman who had been hovering nearby gave them a leery smile.

  ‘Ladies very horny … you like?’ he asked.

  ‘Got a headache,’ said Jack with a smile. ‘Want to doff yer britches, Ben?’

  Ben squirmed and said nothing.

  ‘No, sorry squire, Ben-lad’s having a layday too if that’s the right expression.’

  The barman looked totally confused. ‘He want lady, ugh?’

  ‘Not tonight Napoleon, but thanks all the same,’ said Jack.

  Perched on his bar stool, Ben watched as the barman pressed the buzzer and the women, still sitting in their tidy rows, broke ranks and relaxed. No longer on display for the two men, they slipped off their shoes and picked up magazines, one girl wrapping an old blanket around herself to keep warm.

  As he sat and stared through the window, Ben noticed that the walls inside were all mirrors to make it look as if there were more girls than there really were. It was difficult to tell what was real woman and what was only a reflection; all was illusion in the world of the goldfish bowl.

  When, after a few moments, the barman again pressed the buzzer, Ben watched intently as the scarlet women moved smartly back to their places. A western man with greying hair came into the bar and was intercepted by the same mamasan who steered him towards the goldfish bowl. While they stood in front of the window discussing the merchandise, the women avoided eye contact with him, sitting as motionless as meat in a supermarket freezer. Eventually he made his choice and one of the women took him away to the private rooms. Ben was aghast; he would have died of embarrassment standing there sizing them all up.

  He watched the women relax again after the punter had gone, but then his jaw almost dropped open. There was a little girl in the goldfish bowl, playing happily with a Barbie doll dressed in a red ballgown.

  ‘Who’s the little girl with the doll?’ he asked the barman.

  ‘School holiday … come with big sister,’ said the barman before smartly retreating into the back room.

  ‘Ben, if you say things like that, he’ll think you’re wanting the kid. He’s probably gone to check the tariff.’

  ‘Oh, come on Jack!’ said Ben, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘You bet it’s not a sister though … daughter more like,’ said Jack. ‘Most of these women have children and that’s why they’re here.’

  ‘But it’s awful a child being exposed to all this … Mummy being taken into the shower with the dirty old men. How the hell do they explain it to her?’ asked Ben.

  ‘It’s just normal … it’s how they live,’ said Jack passively.

  ‘Well, there’s lots more I want to know about them,’ said Ben. ‘Are they on drugs? And what’s it like to be taken away and molested?’

  ‘Dunno, but they make a damn good pretence of enjoying it,’ said Jack with a grimace.

  ‘And how much do they get paid? The place seems dead tonight.’

  ‘Well, you don’t know, do you. The rooms at the back could be full by now.’ Jack looked at his watch. ‘So, Ben, what shall we do then? Have another beer or move on?’

  ‘Let’s go. I feel a bit of a voyeur sitting here.’

  He took a last glance through the window before they went down the stairs and out into the heat of the night.

  ‘So now you know where Freddies is,’ said Jack. ‘Where d’you want to go next?’

  ‘No idea really, but what about the Eleganza Hotel? My guidebook calls it “infamous” and says it’s mostly used by sex tourists.’

  ‘Yes, the Eleganza … had its heyday in the Vietnam war with American troops on R and R, but now it’s mainly used by Middle Eastern men and paunchy ex-GIs coming back to relive their experiences.’

  ‘Sounds awful,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll have to see it.’

  ‘Right then. We can walk that way before going on to Big Bazzas.

  And we could stop off at the fortune-teller in the next soi if the queue’s not too long. It’s a ladyboy and she’s a gem.’

  They turned the corner into the busy soi and found the fortune-teller squeezed behind a portable table, his back to the door of a jewellers’ shop, half blocking the narrow pavement. Three bar girls were huddled round the table, giggling loudly as he predicted their certain doom.

  Dressed in a dark blouse and skirt, the fortune-teller’s long wavy hair was held back by little-girl hairgrips, revealing extravagant earrings. His eyes were lively, reflecting the oil lamps on the table, his face angular and gaunt with the pallor of someone who comes out only at night. The bony wrists, heavy with bangles, deftly flicked the cards onto the table.

  Pausing for a moment, he looked up at Jack and Ben.

  ‘Okay, only fie minute. You wait me please.’

  ‘Shall we?’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, you can if you want to,’ said Ben. ‘How much is it anyway?’

  ‘Hundred baht … almost a day’s wage for the locals, but worth every satang.’

  When the fortune-teller had finished with the girls, he motioned to Jack to sit down on the stool opposite him and started his routine.

  ‘Up to you … anything you think for future inside card. You do like this, fifty times.’

  Jack shuffled the pack and put it down in front of him. With a flourish, the fortune-teller then took the cards one by one from the top of the pack, placing them in a pattern face up on the table. In a high-pitched, nasal monotone he began his performance.

  ‘You lucky more, lucky so much. Later no problem, for car, for plane … not have accident. Good. Future, later, up to you. Maybe before sometime you hungry, you not eat something, you drink, you eat every day.’ He glanced up at Jack. ‘You have in family lady? My wife, girlfriend, boyfriend … you have, not have?’

  ‘No,’ said Jack.

  ‘Uh huh … sorry! Be careful for lady people somewhere straight. Up to you, you can try, for future. She good seventy per cent, she bad thirty, coming
soon to see you. She pompui little bit, she wife, she lucky more to you, you take care her a lot. Have father? Have? Not have? You tell me, I tell you.’

  ‘No, he’s dead,’ said Jack smiling broadly.

  ‘Sorry, no problem … him never die in your heart. Mother have?’

  ‘No. Dead.’

  ‘Sorry, no problem … in family, miss you so much!’

  ‘But they’re all dead, Romeo,’ said Jack cheerfully.

  ‘Be careful for body, maybe here and here, fifty-fifty now,’ persisted the fortune-teller, pointing to his stomach and knees. ‘You welly, welly good heart also … you want people look soft in your heart.’

  ‘You’re right there, matey.’

  ‘Big job, not lucky quickly. Later money come see you so much, for job, for business, for work hard.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ grinned Jack.

  ‘Later you lucky number one the world! Thank you sir, what you want to know? You ask me no problem.’

  ‘How’s Huddersfield going to do in the League? You know, second division.’

  ‘Sorry sir, I not know that one sir. Thank you sir, korp khun ka,’said the fortune-teller accepting Jack’s hundred-baht note with both hands and pouting sweetly.

  ‘That was weird,’ said Ben as Jack got up to go. ‘So Jack, money come see you so much. You lucky number one the world.’

  ‘Yes, I’m chuffed, but I still don’t know if Huddersfield’s going to be relegated.’

  The neon-lit streets were throbbing with activity, with foodstalls, taxis and tuk tuks, and everywhere skinny Thai girls in tight jeans, not all of them beautiful, tottering dangerously on platform heels. As he walked with Jack towards the Eleganza Hotel, Ben found himself following a most unsavoury-looking lady of the night. Despite being very overweight, she was wearing a tight yellow Chinese-style cheongsam dress which only just covered her rump. Beside the driveway to the hotel entrance there was a small Buddhist shrine. As she approached the shrine, she put her hands together and bowed deeply, almost showing her knickers. Ben was scared something would split.

  ‘That’s even weirder,’ he said to Jack.