by J. F. Gump
The girl relaxed a little but her smile seemed uncertain. She pointed at a stack of thin magazines at the end of the counter. "Unless someone has taken them out, those magazines have a map of Pattaya in the center. They show all of the hotels."
Nuang took the one from the top. The date she noticed was two months old. It didn't matter, the hotels would still be the same. She flipped it open to the middle, the map was still there. "Can I borrow it? I promise I will bring it back later."
"Sure, go ahead,. Keep it if you want. It's an old one anyway."
"Khop khun mahk, ka," Nuang thanked her.
"Mai pen rai," the girl replied, hesitated, and then added. "It's not easy to find work in Pattaya, unless you know someone. My sister and I came here a few months ago and looked everywhere. Most of the better jobs go to friends and relatives. Come back and see me if you don't have any luck with your job hunting. Maybe I can help."
"Thank you, I will." Nuang smiled.
Outside, the sun had baked the city into a sweltering inferno. It wasn't yet nine but already it was suffocating. Chiang Mai and Phitsanulok were never this hot so early in the morning. Nuang studied the map of Pattaya for a minute. It was all in English but that was okay. Like she had told the girl, her English was pretty good.
She walked to the end of the street and looked at the signs to get her bearings. She located Soi 6 on the map, and then counted the number of nearby hotels. There were fifteen within a few blocks. With so many hotels, surely one of them would need extra help through the high season. Her hotel, she noted, was not listed on the map; she was not surprised. She set off north up the street toward the heavy concentration of hotels.
In a moment she crossed the road and walked in the shadow of the buildings. Nuang, like most Thai women, preferred her skin to be as white as possible. White was beautiful and the color of the rich. Brown was the color of farm workers and common laborers. The hotels would want to hire light skinned girls. She was sure of that.
As she walked, she thought she recognized things from the last time she was in Pattaya. But that had been a long time ago, so she wasn't really sure. She kept her pace slow but steady. She didn't want to waste any time, but she didn't want to sweat either.
Fifteen minutes later she arrived at a circular intersection with two top hotels within a block of each other. She picked the most expensive looking one and walked through the front gates. The security guard gave her a sidelong stare, but said nothing except a polite hello.
Nuang had never been in a place so luxurious. The dark marble floors were spotless and the heavy woodwork was carved with such fine detail it must have been done by the best craftsmen in Thailand. A fountain with multicolored fish and lotus flowers filled the center of the lobby. Farangs, acting rich and confident, ambled casually to and from the restaurant at the far side of the room. The hotel employees wore uniforms reminiscent of traditional Thai dress. She was intimidated by the scene. Everything looked so perfect.
She looked down at her clothes. They were someone else's castoffs, clothes she had been given at the temple. They didn't even fit right. She took a deep breath and approached one of the girls working at the reception counter. "Excuse me. May I see the manager?"
The girl behind the counter looked up and smiled. "The manager isn't here at the moment." Her eyes inspected Nuang in a single glance. "May I help you with something?"
Nuang was so nervous it was all she could do to maintain her composure. She hadn't thought what she would say if the manager was out. "I want to apply for a job. I can cook and I can clean. My English is very good."
"Oh, I can help you with that," the girl smiled. "I don't know if the hotel is hiring or not, but you can fill out an application and leave a copy of your curriculum vitae for the manager."
Nuang stared dumfounded. "Leave my what?" She wondered if the girl meant a copy of her I.D.
"Your curriculum vitae. You know, the story of your life, your resume. Where you went to college, where you have worked, and things like that. It must be in English because the manager doesn't read Thai."
Nuang could feel her smile dropping despite her efforts to keep it in place. She didn't have a curriculum, much less a vitae. She reached out and took the application the girl pushed in her direction. "Yes, of course," she said as sophisticated as possible. "I just didn't hear what you said. I will take the application with me and bring it back later with a copy of my curriculum vitae."
Nuang thought she saw a look of smugness in the girl's eyes. Even with her lighter than normal complexion and her better than average English, the girl had somehow identified her as someone too low class to work in this hotel.
"Thank you for your time," she said in the best English she could muster, then turned and strode out of the lobby. She kept her back straight and her head erect. Once through the gates of the hotel, she sat at the edge of the sidewalk and cried.
In a few minutes she composed herself and walked to the next hotel. After that she went to the next hotel and the next. Every place was the same, except she did get a chance to actually talk to the manager at a few of them.
No place was hiring. Everyone would keep her application on file and call if anything came up. That wasn't likely since she was leaving fictitious names and phone numbers everywhere she went. When anyone asked for her I.D. or a resume, she said she would bring them back later.
By noon she had been to all of the best hotels in north Pattaya. Then she started stopping at every hotel she passed, whether they were on the map or not. If anything, the people at those hotels were even worse than the employees at the classier places. One farang manager politely told her he had a job for her, if she was willing to do something for him. The way he ogled her body left little doubt as to his meaning. Politely, Nuang told him to fuck himself in both English and Thai.
By five o'clock she was tired, sweaty, and starving. She hadn't found a job and she had wasted the whole day doing it. Nuang had experienced plenty of rejection in her life, but never so much in such a short time. She was close to her own hotel and decided to go there to get clean, put on dry clothes, and then get something to eat. Her shoulders slumped forward with defeat as she entered the hotel lobby.
The morning girl was still at the front desk. "Sawasdee ka," the girl said, very soft and very polite. "Pattaya is a cruel town."
Nuang looked up at the young woman who had just spoken with wisdom far beyond her age, or perhaps from lessons hard learned. Whichever it was, it was the cold truth. "Yes it is," she answered.
"It's none of my business, but your face resembles that of a man I have seen in Pattaya. Do you have relatives here?"
Nuang's heart did a quick summersault that took her breath away. "No, I don't know anyone in Pattaya. My family is from near Laos." It was a lie, but she had told so many lies today that one more wouldn't make any difference.
"Don't mind me," the girl smiled, "I'm just being nosy. I can tell by your mood that you didn't find a job. I'm glad you came back before I left for the day. My sister came by earlier and said the bar where she works needs more girls. They are paying 2,500 baht per month plus tips. I think it must be easy work, if you're interested."
Nuang mentally recounted the money in her purse. "What do I have to do?"
"My sister says all she has to do is smile and be nice." The girl didn't mention the other things her sister did to make money. She knew the bar owners expected the girls to go with the farang tourists, but they didn't make them do it. If a girl didn't go with the farangs, she would be treated less than fair by the owners, but she wouldn't be fired unless someone complained loud enough. "Go to Soi 2 tonight at eight o'clock and ask for Lek; she and her sister own Toy's Bar. That's where they need more girls."
"Thank you for your help," Nuang replied, "but I'm sure I can't do that. I think right now I will just get clean and go for something to eat."
"I can recommend a nice outdoor restaurant near the Big C Shopping Center. It's very cheap and it's just across th
e street from Soi 2. Who knows, maybe you'll change your mind about working at Toy's Bar."
"Or maybe not," Nuang replied as she walked away from the reception desk.
She bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. The four flights her floor seemed higher than tallest skyscraper in Bangkok.
The shower hadn't improved any during the day. If anything, it had become worse. Eventually, she had washed away the sweat and grime from her job search and was ready for food. Her conversation with the girl replayed itself. If she wasn't forced to go with a man, maybe working in a beer bar wouldn't be so bad. She could still use her days to look for a real job, and the evening work would help stretch her small supply of money.
She pulled a pair of jeans from her clothes box and wiggled her way into them. They were tight—real tight. She looked herself up and down as best as she could without a full length mirror. Probably what the farangs would call sexy, she thought, amused by the idea. She put on new make-up, a colorful blouse, and a pair of well worn high heels. After combing her hair and inspecting herself one last time, she left the room.
The young girl was gone and the boy she had seen that morning was back on duty. He gave her a casual glance but said nothing. Nuang wasn't sure he even recognized her. He probably thought she was just another lady of Pattaya. At the age of 36, it seemed like a compliment.
Outside, the evening sun had slipped over the horizon leaving an orange glow in its wake. Nuang headed in the direction of the Soi 2. She saw the outdoor restaurants as she neared the Big C. She hoped the food was as good as the girl said.
She ordered a simple fish and noodle soup for dinner and a Coke to drink. She took in the surroundings while she waited for her food to arrive. To her left was the Big C Shopping Center, to her right were more sidewalk restaurants. Across Second Road and a little south of where she sat were the beer bars of Soi 2.
It was still early, but already there were foreigners sitting at the bars. She watched the men as they drank their beers and put their hands on the bar-girls. Nuang wondered how those girls could do that every night, never knowing who or what they were going home with.
A sharp memory pierced her self-righteous bubble. Not so long ago she, too, had gone home with a farang, so who was she to judge? But that had been different, she struggled to convince herself. That farang had been her sister's lover, so he wasn't a total stranger. And she had done it just once and only because she had promised her sister she would. But it had been exciting, thrilling, romantic, exhilarating. That day she had experienced a climax with a man for the only time in her entire life.
Nuang's food arrived and she turned her attention to her stomach. For the moment she lost interest in the bars, the farangs, and the bar-girls. Either the food was exceptionally good or she was exceptionally hungry. It was delicious. She finished the soup and ordered a second Coke. Then she sat, deciding what she should do.
She was certainly dressed for a bar-girl job, and she doubted anyone would care who she was or where she was from or if she had ever gone to school. She could start making money tonight.
She glanced back across Second Road at the open-air bars. They didn't look like much. Tin roofs held up by steel poles provided cover for rectangular shaped bars that were lined with well worn stools. Inside the bars were coolers, a cashier, and the ever present bar-girls. Nuang noticed a small sign hanging from the eave of one bar. Help wanted, it read in Thai, 80 baht per day. It wasn't much, barely enough for food, but more than she was making now. She wasn't sure she was ready for sleeping with a different stranger every night, but she wasn't ready for starvation either.
At that moment she made up her mind. She would work as a bar-girl for one night, and if it was okay she would work there every night. Maybe she would even find a farang who would give her another climax. The thought excited her.
Chapter 22
Mike Johnson was one of the first in line to board the plane from Tokyo to Bangkok. He didn't want a repeat of his Detroit boarding fiasco. This time there was plenty of room in the overhead compartment. He stowed his carry-on and sat down.
The seat beside him stayed empty for a long time. A bit of inane excitement built inside him. To Mike, sitting in business class with an empty seat beside him was almost as good as first class. If no one showed up, he might even sit in the window seat. He passed on the Beefeaters and ordered a glass of tomato juice instead. He had already consumed enough alcohol for one day and figured a little vitamin C wouldn't hurt.
Just before the plane backed from its docking area, an Asian woman stopped beside him and pointed at the window seat. Mike stood to let her in. She was about five feet three inches tall with long black hair. She was well built and attractive. Actually she was more than attractive, she was beautiful, in her late twenties. Mike studied her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but he was sure he didn't know her. She could have been Vietnamese, Cambodian, Lao, or Thai. Considering they were on their way to Bangkok, he decided on Thai.
"Sawasdee krup," he ventured, "Sabai dee leuhr?” How are you?
"Sabai dee, khop khun ka. I am fine, thank you."
"My name is Mike."
"I'm pleased to meet you," the lady responded in near perfect English.
"Your English is very good. Do you live in America?"
"I lived in Scotland and England for a while. Now I am going home to Thailand."
"Going to visit relatives?" he asked.
"No, I am going home to live. What about you?"
"I'm going to Thailand on business for a few months. I'll be working in Pattaya." Immediately, he regretted his choice of words. Many Thais don't like to think or talk about Pattaya because of the things that go on there; things not polite. Some didn't even consider it a part of Thailand. "Have you ever been there?"
"Yes, my husband used to work there."
"Oh, you're married then?" He glanced at her ring finger. It was bare, but for Thais that didn't mean anything.
"I was married," the woman said. "Our marriage is finished now."
"I'm sorry," Mike said with polite sympathy.
"Never mind. It's been a long time. I'm okay."
The stewardess came past collecting glasses and checking seatbelts. Shortly, the plane raced down the runway toward the evening horizon. The woman turned to look out the window. Within minutes she was asleep.
Mike slept on and off during the flight. Darkness caught up with them just as his internal clock said it should be getting light. When they passed into Vietnam airspace, he had an overwhelming urge to look down. At that instant, he wished he had the window seat. After all of these years, he still carried vivid memories of the time he spent there during the war. He wondered how much Vietnam had changed or if it had changed at all. Someday he would return but he didn't know when. He didn't even know why.
Thirty minutes from Bangkok he went to the lavatory. He brushed his teeth, shaved, and cleaned himself as best as he could in the cramped compartment. When he finally exited the toilet, he got dirty looks from a few of the waiting passengers. He mumbled apologies and rubbed at his lower stomach. They let him pass. The lady was gone when he got back to his seat.
As the plane started its descent, wind turbulence shook it hard. Mike slid his TV monitor into its slot and fastened his seatbelt. He wondered if it was raining in Bangkok.
A minute later, his seatmate stumbled her way down the aisle of the jumping craft. She lost her balance and pitched forward as she arrived at their row.
Mike reached out and caught her. He felt the smooth softness of her body. The scent of fresh perfume filled his nose. He had smelled that same fragrance a hundred times before. Sharp images of Math shot through his head. He fought down the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. "Are you okay?"
She struggled to regain her footing. "I am sorry. I'm so embarrassed. Please forgive me."
"Mai pen rai," he answered, smiling. "Catching you was my pleasure." He stood to let her inside. "I like your perfume. It reminds me o
f someone I once knew."
"Thank you. It's my favorite, too."
Outside, the plane broke through a layer of clouds. Bangkok was to their left, to the southwest. City lights twinkled upwards. The plane banked in that direction in preparation for final approach. The flight crew went through their routine of making sure everything and everyone was secure for landing. Again, Mike had trouble adjusting to the pressure change. This time the pain was exquisite. The plane had parked at the terminal before his ears finally cleared.
The woman was out of her seat and stepping across Mike as soon as the fasten seatbelt light was turned off. By the time he pulled his bag from the overhead, she was gone.
Everyone shuffled forward, anxious to be off the plane. As he neared the exit, the unmistakable scents of Thailand drifted inside. He breathed deep.
A minute later he was headed toward immigration control. He had made this walk a few times before. He picked up his pace. He wanted to be one of the first in line.
His hurry was wasted. He stepped into the shortest long line and waited. His ex-seatmate stood two rows away. She was eighth in line. Jim Dowling was in the same row as her, but closer to the back.
Mike counted the people ahead of himself. Fifteen. It wouldn't take long unless the immigration officers decided to give someone a hard time. A monk, a young couple with backpacks, and man wearing an Arafat-looking war bonnet were in front of him. The others were less conspicuous. He timed the officials as they processed passports and paperwork. An average of one person per minute.
The line to his left had come to a complete stop while the immigration officer demanded more and more identification from the man standing at his station. After a few tense minutes and a phone call, the man's passport was stamped and he passed through immigration control.
No one in Mike's line was given more than a cursory glance. It moved smoothly. Mike had a ninety day work visa and the official barely looked at him as he stamped, initialed, and stapled. Thirty seconds. It was a record of sorts.