Pete wanted to go to Zombie in Nana Plaza - he'd mentioned it two or three times while we were in Safari. I'm not a big fan of Zombie, I prefer Spicy-a-go-go on the opposite side of the plaza. As soon as we walked into the bar, Joy came running over to Pete and practically threw herself at him, hugging him around the neck and kissing his cheek. She was a pretty thing, long hair, quite curvy, terrific breasts. She sat next to Pete and he introduced her to me. She shook my hand. That always makes me smile. There they are, sitting there topless but holding their hands out like we were at a business meeting. Come to think of it, I suppose it was a business meeting at that. Pete had to buy her drinks and she wanted him to pay her bar fine, so it was all about money.
It's practically impossible to know if the girls in the bars really like us or not. They are working, after all. But I think there's a difference between the way they treat us long-term residents and the way they act with tourists. They know we're going to come in week after week,
so I guess they know they can't get away with stinging us. But did Joy love Pete? Tough call.
She was very attentive, hanging on his every word, pouring his tonic into his gin, rubbing his leg, leaning her head against his shoulder, but those are standard bargirl tricks. I'm sure she'd act exactly the same way with any other customer. Pete was definitely infatuated with her, though.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. And we'd only been there a few minutes before he asked her to go off and put on a bikini top. That was funny, because when we went in she was stark bollock naked, except for a pair of black ankle boots. Must be love, huh?
Joy's two sisters came over to join us. Sunan and Mon. Sunan was a hard-faced girl in her late twenties, tall with a tight body but cold eyes. She sat next to Nigel and almost immediately asked him to buy her a drink. I hate it when they do that. I don't mind offering, but I don't want to be pushed into it, you know?
Mon was different. Actually, she looked a bit like Joy. She was older, she said she was twenty seven but I think she's probably about thirty. You could tell from the stretch marks on her stomach that she'd had at least one kid, but she had a beautiful face and a great figure. She was cuddly, you know. A bit like my ex-wife. She didn't hit me for a drink but I bought her four colas and we had quite a decent conversation. Her husband had cleared off not long after her daughter had been born, she said, and she'd had no choice but to work in the bars. She was saving like mad and as soon as she had enough money she was going to go back to Surin. I felt sorry for her and when I left I gave her a thousand baht. Pete stayed on. He'd paid Joy's bar fine and she'd gone off to change. I went along to Fatso's Bar for a nightcap.
BIG RON I get to see all sorts in Fatso's Bar. The works. That's one of the reasons I enjoy running the bar:
all human life is here, and a fair sprinkling of sub-human specimens, too.
There's the tourists: they come here for a couple of weeks, screw themselves stupid and then head back to England or Denmark or Germany or wherever they're from and dream about the wonderful time they had. Most of them reckon it's a sexual paradise, they can't believe what's on offer here. They sit at the bar with stupid grins on their faces, get tanked up and then head on down to the Plaza. The ones I feel sorry for are the ones who fall in love. They meet a girl the first night and they think it's the real thing. They spend every night with the same one, and by the middle of the holiday they're hooked. They fall for whatever line the girl gives them - the sick mother, the younger sister's school uniform, the bank foreclosing on the family farm, the dead water buffalo, there's a million sob stories and I've heard them all. Sometimes they bring the girls here, like they're on a date or something. They sit at the bar, all lovey dovey, holding hands and making eyes at each other. God, it's enough to make me puke. I've given up saying anything.
They don't want to be told, they want to believe that they're a knight in shining armour and that the girl doesn't want to work in the bar, that she's only doing it to help out her family. Bollocks. They're hookers and they know exactly what they're doing. I see the same girls in here week after week with different farangs.
The mainstay of Fatso's Bar are the regulars, though. We serve good, solid English food in the restaurant upstairs or at the bar. Fish and chips. Roast chicken dinners. Gammon steak and chips.
None of the Thai crap. Food you can get your teeth into. Our breakfasts are a big puller, too.
We've plenty of regulars pop in for a feed before heading off to the office.
I don't encourage tourists, to be honest. It's all about repeat business so I want guys who live in Bangkok, guys who'll come in four nights a week or more. The guys who have been here,
done that and got the fucking T-shirt. Guys like Jimmy. Been here for more than fifteen years now, runs a chain of furniture shops by fax. You won't catch the likes of Jimmy falling in love with a Thai girl. Same with Rick. Been here almost ten years. Sells condom-making machines,
does a roaring trade. Doesn't believe in them himself, none of us do. I've fucked more than two thousand women and a fair amount of katoeys too, and never got anything more serious than NSU. Well, there was the genital warts, a bugger to shift they were, but I don't really count them.
Rick's the same as Jimmy and me: we go to the bars, choose a girl, and screw them. No attachments, no relationships, they're slappers, pure and simple. That's the only way to treat them.
In fact, the longer a guy stays here, the more he's likely to go with katoeys, because you know where you are with a katoey. A katoey's a transsexual. But don't get me wrong, it's not like going with a guy in a dress. They're fucking lovely here. Drop dead gorgeous some of them. They take hormones to grow breasts, or have implants, and then they have their dicks cut off. Sex with them is something else, I can tell you. For a start, they give the best blow jobs. That's a fact.
You've never had a blow job until you've had a katoey go down on you. You see, a guy knows what a guy likes. You don't have to fuck them, though Jimmy and Rick do it all the time,
whether or not the geezer's got a dick. I don't screw them much, what with me being thirty stone and all, but I always fuck one up the arse on World Aids Day. Point of principle.
The ones who get into real trouble are the ones who fall between the tourists and the guys like Jimmy and Rick. They've been here for a few months, maybe longer, and they think they know it all. They think they understand Thais, they probably learn to speak a bit of the language, and they let their defences down. That's when they get fucked. There was a Jap guy we knew, came over to work for Toyota. Fell in love with a Thai girl, bought her a house and some land up near Chiang Mai. Gave money to her family, even bought them a pick up truck and a couple of motorcycles. The girl must have been the screw of the century because the Jap decides he's gonna marry her. He goes up to Chiang Mai, and there's a huge wedding party. Food, booze, the works. The whole family gets legless, a great time is had by all. In the middle of the festivities, a Thai guy goes up to the Jap. “You can go now,” says the Thai.
“What do you mean?” says the Jap. “This is my wedding.”
“No,” says the Thai. “This is my house. On my land. And that's my wife. Now you can fuck off.”
And that was that. The Jap came running back to Bangkok with his tail between his legs.
Went back to Japan a few months later, a broken man. He'd been ripped off from Day One.
You have to realise that basically Thais don't like us. They don't want us in their country.
They won't let us buy land, and we have to leave every few months to get a new visa. If it wasn't for the fact that they want our money, they wouldn't even allow us in the country. They don't like the way we look, the way we smell, the way we behave. I absolutely one hundred per cent guarantee you that if a Thai girl says she loves you, she's lying. You see, love doesn't mean the same to a Thai that it means to us. When we say we love someone, we mean we want to spend the rest of our lives with them, we want to have children with them, that we think they're fun,
that we like the way they look, the way they screw. But a Thai, when a Thai girl says she loves you, what she means is, I want you to take care of me. And that's all she means.
There's a guy comes in here to drink from time to time. Grows peanuts up north. He came over here after he left the Army. Met a girl, set her up in a house in Bangkok. Foreigners can't buy land in Thailand and this was a townhouse so it had to be in her name. They started up an import-export business and he was as happy as Larry. Then after two years he went to Malaysia on a visa run. He was only away a couple of days. When he got back she'd sold the house and the business and pissed off. He paid a private eye to track her down. She was back in her village with her husband and two kids. Damn near destroyed him, it did. He started drinking, pissed away what money he had left, and now he's up north, literally working for peanuts. Just another member of the legion of Sad Fucks.
PETE Every night at eleven o'clock, all the girls in Zombie, those who hadn't had their bar fines paid,
had to go up on one of the two stages and dance for about ten minutes. It was a hell of a sight,
more than a hundred girls, most of them naked, dancing so close together that they were almost touching. It was a way of showing the customers what was available, I guess. I used to hate it. It was like a cattle market. Joy always used to stand next to her sisters and if I was there she'd grin and wave, but I never felt comfortable watching her. And if I didn't go to the bar, I always had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at eleven, knowing that she was up on the stage and that guys were ogling her.
After the mass dancing, there were a few shows. Nothing to compare with what went on in the upstairs bars in Patpong - a lesbian show and a show where one of the girls would paint another with luminous paint.
One night, as Joy sat next to me watching the lesbian show, she put a hand on my thigh.
“What you think, Pete?” she asked, nodding at the stage. Two girls, both friends of Joy, were writhing on a blanket. On the other stage, two girls were doing a similar show, trying in vain to synchronise their movements with a slow Thai love song. “It's okay,” I said, not sure what she meant.
“Mamasan want me do,” said Joy.
“The lesbian show? Why?”
Joy beamed. "She say I very pretty. Farangs want to see girl with long hair do lesbian show.
She want me do with Wan."
“What does Wan think?” I asked.
“She need money. She want to do.”
“How much do they pay if you do the show?”
“Ten thousand baht.”
I was surprised. That was a lot of money, more than a good secretary would earn in a month working for a multinational company in Bangkok. “How many shows?” I asked.
"Lesbian show every night. Then go upstairs to G-spot for shower show. What you think,
Pete? If you not want me do, I not do."
She looked at me earnestly, waiting to see what I'd say. I felt flattered because it was clear she was serious. It really was up to me. I watched the two girls on the stage. One was lying on her back while the other licked her breasts and fondled her between the legs. “You can do that?” I asked Joy.
She nodded. “Easy,” she said.
Two fat Germans were leaning forward, leering at the girls. I didn't like the idea of Joy performing, but it was just a performance. Acting. And I figured that the more money she earned from 'legitimate' work, the less incentive there'd be for her to let someone pay her bar fine.
“What you think?” she asked.
“I'm not sure,” I said. I explained my reservations about farangs watching her with another girl.
“Same dancing,” she said.
I wasn't sure if it was. When she was dancing she was always with other girls, often more than a dozen. Doing the lesbian show put her centre stage.
“Do you want to do it?” I asked.
“Up to you,” she said.
The girls on the stage changed position, one squatted over the other, balancing herself by holding one of the silver poles, and began to moan with simulated pleasure as the other used her tongue. The Germans leered and leaned forward for an even closer view.
“You wouldn't be shy?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It not real,” she said. "Same movie star.” She was right. It was acting, a show for the tourists.
“Okay,” I said. “Why not try it? See if you like it.”
Joy nodded. “Okay, Pete. I do for you.”
Two days later it was Joy's first appearance as a 'special artist'. Her new role also meant that her bar fine had increased - before midnight it now cost a thousand baht to buy her out because if she wasn't there someone else would have to be found to take her place. After midnight, her bar fine dropped to seven hundred baht.
The lights dimmed and Joy and Wan skipped up onto the stage. Wan was a cute nineteenyear-old with shoulder length hair and an upturned nose that had cost her twenty thousand baht from one of Bangkok's top plastic surgeons. She was one of Joy's closest friends and they often arrived at Zombie together.
Wan spread a tartan blanket over the dancefloor, then the two girls took off their leopard-print sarongs and bikinis to hoots and cheers from the farangs. The slow music started and Joy and Wan went into an unconvincing clinch. Joy reached up and held on to two of the silver poles,
while Wan began to plant small kisses over Joy's breasts. Joy looked across at me and began to giggle. In fact she giggled throughout the show. Wan did, too. They knew all the moves, but it was clear that they weren't taking it seriously. At one point the mamasan, a fifty-something old bat with a hairy mole on her left cheek, shouted something to the girls and they began to fake orgasms, but after a few minutes they both collapsed into giggles again.
When the show was over, Wan gathered up the blanket and Joy pulled on her bikini and shawl and scampered over to where I was sitting. “What you think?” she asked.
“You kept laughing,” I said.
“Jug ga jee,” she said. Ticklish. “You can come to G-Spot with me?” she asked. “I have to do shower show and I shy go alone.”
G-Spot was one of the upstairs bars. Along one wall was a glass panel behind which were a number of shower heads. I'd been up a few times to see the shower shows, but basically all you're looking at is a line of girls getting wet. It wasn't much of a turn on, though tourists and first-timers seem to get a kick out of it.
I paid my bill and Joy took my hand and led me out of Zombie. Several heads turned to watch us go. Joy was one of the sexiest girls in Nana Plaza and in her green bikini top and with her leopard-print sarong tied around her waist, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I was proud to be seen with her, and even prouder that she wanted me to go with her.
Joy stood by me while she waited to be called for the show. I bought her a cola and she sipped it through a straw. G-Spot wasn't an especially popular bar: most men preferred to stick to the ground floor. I don't know if it was because they couldn't be bothered with the stairs but for most visitors to Nana Plaza, the upper floors were undiscovered country. As a result, the prettiest girls tended to work on the ground floor where the bars were busier. I could tell from the way Joy was preening herself that she thought she was a cut above the girls who worked in G-Spot. Maybe that was why she'd brought me with her, to show to the girls that she had a farang boyfriend,
another sign of her status.
Several guys tried to make eye contact with Joy but she pointedly ignored them. She leaned against me, then turned and kissed me on the cheek. “Sorry,” she laughed, wiping away the lipstick with her thumb.
Half a dozen girls made their way to a curtained door. Joy patted me on the thigh. “Okay, I go now,” she said. She tottered across the bar on her impossibly high heels. She turned and waved before disappearing through the curtain.
A few minutes later the main lights dimmed and spotlights came on, illuminating the showers.
Water began to spurt out of the shower heads, then one by one the girls came out in single file.
There was laughter all around me. Guys were pointing and shaking their heads and the bargirls were jumping up and down and shrieking. Joy was wearing a shower cap. The girls took bars of soap and began lathering themselves. Joy followed their example, but did her best to keep her head out of the water. The farang manager of the bar went over to the shower screens and rapped on the glass. He pointed at Joy and mimed for her to take off her cap. She smiled and did as she was told to a round of applause.
After the girls were all covered with soapy suds, they paired off and simulated lesbian sex.
Joy was with Wan again. This time, though, Wan leaned against the wall while Joy kissed her all over. At one point she got soap in her mouth and she stopped what she was doing to rinse her mouth out. She grinned at me and gave me a small wave. Ten minutes later, it was all over. Joy came back through the curtain, towelling her hair dry. “What you think?” she asked.
“I think you were great,” I said. “The prettiest girl there.”
She smiled. “You sure?”
“I'm sure,” I said.
We went back down the stairs to Zombie. “My hair take long time to dry,” she said.
“I know. That's why you wore the cap.”
“No, that was for fun,” she said. “I know the manager go crazy. Funny, huh?”
I hugged her. She was funny. Cute, too. She sat by me in Zombie until it was time to dance again and made such a fuss of having to dry her hair that I paid her bar fine so that she didn't have to work.
She only stuck at being a showgirl for ten days. Joy hated getting her hair wet and didn't like having to redo her make-up. She decided that the extra money wasn't worth the trouble. I didn't argue. I hated seeing the way men grabbed at her when she came off stage. The lesbian show was a turn on, more so than straight-forward dancing, and guys were always offering to pay her bar fine, and wanting to take Wan along, too. Every man's fantasy, I guess, two beautiful girls at the same time.
One night, about a week after she'd started doing the shows, I'd popped into Zombie late at night, just before closing time. I'd been over at Fatso's Bar with Bruce and the lads and decided to say hello to Joy before going back to the hotel. She was there all right, sitting with Wan at the bar, wearing a black wraparound skirt and a T-shirt. She saw the look of surprise on my face.
“Farang pay bar for me and Wan,” she said hurriedly. She'd been drinking beer, from the bottle,
and was grinning lopsidedly. She pushed the bottle away as if it wasn't hers.
The news hit me like a sucker punch. She'd always insisted that no one else could pay her bar fine, that she was my private dancer. “Why, Joy?”
“No, Pete, you not understand. Farang have birthday, he want see me and Wan do lesbian show. He pay two thousand baht to me and two thousand baht to Wan, just for show.”
“Where?” I asked. This didn't sound right.
“We go Penthouse Hotel.”
The Penthouse was one of the short-time hotels I went to with Joy. Mirrors on the walls and ceilings, blue movies on the television, condoms by the bed. “Come on, Joy. Why go to a shorttime hotel? If he wanted to see the show, he could see it here.”
Joy waved Wan over and spoke to her in Khmer. That was something I'd noticed before. Joy could speak reasonable English, certainly enough to make herself understood, and my Thai was good enough to talk to her. She and Wan usually spoke to each other in Thai, but whenever there was something she didn't want me to know, Joy would use Khmer. It had a totally different vocabulary to Thai but with many similar sounds, so there was no hope of me eavesdropping. When Joy finished speaking, Wan smiled at me. “Farang have birthday today. He say he want private show, he want see me and Joy do lesbian show for him. He just watch and drink beer.”
She looked across at Joy for approval and Joy nodded. Joy raised her eyebrows at me as if she'd proved her point.
“Joy, you said no one could pay your bar fine. How do you think I feel?”
“I don't know,” she said, lowering her eyes.
She looked so sad I wanted to put my arms around her and hold her. I guess she was only trying to earn a little extra money, and if a guy wanted to pay her to see what he could watch for free in Zombie, I suppose she'd be a fool not to take advantage of him.
“You angry at me?” she asked.
“No, I'm not angry at you,” I said. I wasn't, either. But I was still glad when she decided to quit doing the shows.
JOY Some of the girls in Zombie won't work with another girl. They're too shy, they say they don't want someone else to see them having sex. Think of the money, that's what I tell them. You're having sex with one guy, right, so if there's two girls, it's half the work. Half the time, too. Most farangs come really quickly with two girls, they can't control themselves, especially if you know what to do. Sunan showed me, once. A French guy paid bar fine for Sunan and me a few days after I started work in Zombie - he was turned on by the idea of making love to sisters. He paid bar fine and gave Sunan and me two thousand baht each. We went to Uncle Rey's Guest House,
just around the corner. Fifteen minutes later, we were back dancing in the bar. With the farang's money.
Sunan made me get on top and then she kissed him while I had sex with him. He wanted to pull out and have sex with Sunan, but before he could, Sunan began to moan and groan. “You fuck my young sister,” she said, then she reached behind me and started playing with him. He came like a rocket. Easy money. He started saying he wanted to do it again, but Sunan said he'd only paid to come once and we left.
Once I started doing the lesbian show, farangs were always asking to bar fine me and Wan together. Wan was up for it because she needs the money: her boyfriend has a major heroin habit and she's just bought a pick-up truck for her father. I knew I was taking a risk, because if Pete found out, he'd hit the roof. If Pete had already been then I was reasonably sure I'd be okay, but if he hadn't popped in I had to brief the girls to say that I'd just gone out to get something to eat. I only got caught once and that was Wan's fault. She'd talked me into having a couple of beers before we did the show, then a farang bought me and Wan another beer each before asking if he could pay our bar fines. Now, I knew it wasn't a good idea because I had a feeling that Pete was going to pop in, but I was feeling a bit tipsy and he was offering more money than usual. Three thousand baht each. The lesbian show had really turned him on. Anyway, Wan talked me into it,