Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (11 page)

Yuth was a completely different person with the children, so I was very relaxed about leaving them in his care. He gladly took Atid to school, bathed them, fetched food and snacks for them, and generally took good care of them, and this was reflected in their behaviour around him.

The change in their attitudes gradually became more noticeable. Peung and Atid no longer cried when I left for work in the evenings, and would occasionally run to Yuth instead of me if they hurt themselves. This upset me greatly, but I comforted myself in the knowledge that at least they were no longer crying themselves to sleep at night from hunger.

I made sure that I still had a large part to play in their lives, and I would play with Peung while we waited for Atid to finish school. As reckless as I have been about my own life, I have never been reckless with my children’s lives. Every afternoon before I go to work, I pack Atid’s school bag and make sure that he has everything he needs for his education. My children will never know what it’s like not to be able to complete an assignment because of lack of money. I also put 500 baht into each of my children’s accounts whenever I can spare it. It is done infrequently, and is not much, but it eases my mind knowing that I do something to ensure that they have a better future.

When I worked in Jasmine’s I used to feel sorry for the women working in go-go bars. I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could bring herself to dance naked in the presence of strangers for the sake of a few baht. I looked down on these girls and considered myself infinitely superior to them. It is a cruel irony that I became everything I once despised. I came to be treated with the same contempt I once doled out to others so freely.

Even the tuk-tuk drivers didn’t consider me worthy of their respect. They would shout vulgar comments at me like, ‘Oh sister, you have a big guy tonight! I wonder how big he is!’

Oftentimes, if my client happened to be elderly, with white hair and a sagging body, I would walk behind him in order to fool people into thinking we were not together. Despite all the public ridicule I had to contend with, I never became immune to it and there were still moments when all I wanted was to walk through the streets without the title ‘bar girl’ emblazoned on my forehead in neon letters.

In time I came to learn that this job exposed you to every form of social abuse imaginable. Whereas drugs never appealed to me, many of my friends turned to them to help them cope. Some girls used ecstasy to get rid of stage fright. I began smoking and drinking heavily. Whether I was dancing at the bar or sleeping with a client, I was usually quite drunk; I found that alcohol helped to anaesthetise me, and after that it was just a matter of going through the motions.

I came to realise that most of the women who worked in these bars had broken spirits. One particularly sad story was that of my friend Parn. She came from the Nakhon Prathom province and had already been working in Patpong for years when I arrived on the scene. She was petite, with short, dark hair, and cheekbones so high that many people mistook her for a ladyboy. Parn lived with her partner in a Klong Toey slum, and they had two sons together, one of whom was crippled. She sent the other son to live with her mother in her hometown. Her story was the same as most of the girls I worked with—she was just trying to get through each night in the bar so that she could earn enough money to support her family.

When I first met her, I found her to be a very sweet girl; she was quite reserved and avoided trouble at all costs. But she started dabbling in amphetamines, and before long I barely recognised her anymore. She and her partner were very vulnerable to the temptation of drugs because they were offered them at every turn in their slum. Both of them began taking amphetamines every day just to cope with life. Each pill cost her 350 baht and she began spending most of her hard-earned money on
yaa baa
—what we Thais refer to as the crazy drug.

Parn couldn’t wait to spend her money on the drug, and whenever she couldn’t afford to, she would borrow money from other girls. She kept only one or two pills with her in case she was caught by the police. If she carried more on her person, she would be charged as a dealer, not a user. Parn became unbearable. She would often start fights with the other girls over things as mundane as dance moves or make-up. And when she wasn’t fighting with someone, she was often to be found passed out at the bar, her head resting on the counter. On one occasion, the
mamasan
caught her flashing her bottom at a couple of men before grabbing one of them by his private parts. Naturally, Nhim cautioned Parn, but rather than apologise for her behaviour, Parn became very irate. She threatened all sorts of violence on Nhim, who was left with no choice but to fire her.

The police occasionally conducted urine tests on the go-go girls but we would usually be warned in advance of their coming. On one occasion, Nhim said any girl who had taken drugs must leave for that night because the police was about to come checking on them. The police didn’t come that night, however, I was surprised by the number of girls who left.

A month after the false alarm, a team of police just turned up an hour before the bar was about to close. The officer who seemed to be in charge of the raid told my
mamasan
to stop the music. He told us to line up and other officers handed each of us a lab tube. He then pointed to the toilet where a policewoman was standing next to the door. One by one, we used the toilet and came out with a tube of urine. I handed my tube to an officer and he dropped something in it and I was cleared. I didn’t know if they found any drug addicts that night but I saw no arrests.

Drugs were not the only problem that affected the girls of Patpong. On a daily basis, women were being forced to compete with one another to attract men, and this often led to some shocking catfights. I once witnessed a girl get so mad that she hit another girl over the head with a beer bottle. Judging by the amount of blood pouring down the victim’s face, I was sure she was dead, but by some miracle she came away needing only four stitches.

Another bloody fight took place outside the bar after closing time one night. It was the climax of a long-time stand-off between two groups of go-go dancers. The leader of one of the groups waited until there were no ‘grown-ups’ around before producing a razor blade. She attacked one of the opposing group members, cutting a deep gash in her cheek, then sprinted off with her friends. Go-go girls rely chiefly on their looks to attract customers, so the wounded girl was very lucky that she could afford the 100,000 baht needed to pay for the plastic surgery at the reputable Yan Hee Hospital.

Although police maintained a presence in the Patpong area, they rarely investigated reports of such catfights and usually just dismissed them offhand. It would be dishonest of me to give the impression that I never got into a fight myself. In fact, I have been known to start fights on occasion.

Once, a former colleague of mine called On developed a strong dislike for me. I had made some extra money from an especially generous customer and treated a few of my friends and Nhim to grilled chicken. The following night word got back to me that On had been bitching about me to the other dancers, accusing me of throwing money around in an effort to show off. I saw red. I cornered her in the changing room and asked her if the rumours were true. Her cheeks flared up and she denied it, claiming that she had been talking about someone else. A smile played on her lips as she began twirling her hair with her finger in mock innocence. Her defiance incensed me, and I reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Our screams of rage brought the other girls running and it took several of them to pry us apart.

Another time I persuaded a customer to buy me a drink, and we spent some time chatting and getting on well. I knew it was only a matter of time before I could persuade him to pay the bar fine for me, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. While I was gone, another girl approached him and told him that I had a husband and children at home, that I wasn’t fresh anymore, and that he shouldn’t waste his money on me.

I had already set the bait and she reeled him in. She stole him from right underneath my nose. In these situations we either talk it out or slap it out.

As I settled into the job, petty jealousies and rivalries consumed me and I thought nothing of fighting like a stray dog to defend my honour. For Thai people, losing face is the greatest source of shame, but as a go-go girl you leave your dignity on the floor of the changing room before you ever take to the stage.

While prostitution improved my finances dramatically, it did nothing for my relationship with Yuth, and things continued to deteriorate.

He had temporarily stopped beating me after Peung’s birth. For a while, he was so distracted by his little baby girl that he barely seemed to notice me. But when Peung was one year old the beatings resumed.

In the past, Yuth had confined his attacks to behind closed doors, but they gradually became more public. I took his increasing indifference to witnesses as a sign that he had lost all control. The reasons for his attacks hadn’t changed; he would regularly accuse me of having affairs with other Thai men if I stayed out too late at night. If I tried to defend myself and argue that I had been servicing a
farang
, he accused me of lying and would proceed to beat me, but if I kept silent it would only confirm his suspicions and he would still beat me. No matter what I did, he beat me.

I often fled to Yuth’s mother’s house for safety. But Yuth would always turn up the following morning, cradling our daughter in his arms and holding our son’s hand, pleading, ‘Bua, come home. Don’t you love our kids anymore?’

On one occasion, rather than try to defend myself, I just let my body go limp. Seeing that I had no fight in me, Yuth started punching my head repeatedly. For a few seconds everything went black, and then fluorescent spots of yellow started exploding before my eyes like fireworks illuminating a night sky. That was the last thing I remember before I passed out. When I came to, Yuth was sulking in a corner at the opposite side of the room. I think he felt cheated by my blackout because it had prevented him from venting the full force of his violence. My head was throbbing, but I knew why Yuth had concentrated his attack there; he knew better than to hit me where my bruises would be visible because no foreigner would want to purchase a woman covered in ugly black and blue bruises.

As time went by, the beatings got even worse. He stopped caring about the bruises and would just lash out at me wildly, happy to make contact with any part of my body. My screams were his trophies, and the louder they were the more triumphant he felt.

Late one night after work, I was at a roadside eatery with some friends on Surawong Road, which is just beside Patpong, when Yuth called me on my mobile phone, demanding to know where I was. Because he was so far away, I ignored his question and dismissively informed him that I would be home shortly. I should have known better because 30 minutes later he arrived at the food stall. It wouldn’t have been too hard to find me, as these stalls catered to all the hungry late-night workers.

He stormed over to me. I could almost smell his anger it was so potent. He reached forward and clasped my throat with his hands. His breath reeked of alcohol.

I struggled free of his grasp. The noisy street had come to a standstill and all eyes were on us. I had no face left to lose so I fought back.

‘Why would I want to bring more trouble on myself when you are such a bastard to me as it is?’

I had never spoken back to Yuth. He looked momentarily stunned but quickly recovered and began to pummel my face with his fists. I felt like a human punch-bag.

My friends from the bar tried to pull him away, insisting that I had never had an affair.

Yuth finally tired himself out and stopped punching me. I reached my hand up to touch my face, terrified that my features had been reduced to mere pulp. Blood streamed down my face in tear-like rivulets. Yuth couldn’t even look at me but instead began to randomly accuse different men of having an affair with me. He even interrogated my friend Off, who was an obviously gay prostitute, but all rationality seemed to have been consumed by sheer jealousy and rage.

Yuth then grabbed me by the arm and dragged me onto the street where he pushed me into a waiting taxi. He continued to punch and slap me for the duration of the journey. I had to use my handbag to deflect his blows from my already mangled face. I tried to make eye contact with the driver in the rear-view mirror, silently beseeching him to intervene, but he just stared resolutely ahead. Even when Yuth threatened to kill me on arrival at our house, the driver still refused to take his eyes off the road. As far as he was concerned, the tearful, bloodied woman in the back of his car was none of his business.

When we reached the shack, Yuth threw 100 baht at the driver and hauled me out of the car. I struggled to break free of him, but I had been greatly weakened by the attack, and Yuth merely laughed at my feeble attempts.

In the shack, Atid and Peung were playing with Yuth’s younger sister on the floor. When they heard the door open, they immediately leaped up and ran in my direction, but the sight of my swollen and bloodied face stopped them in their tracks.

Yuth ordered his sister to go home.

Atid instinctively took Peung by the hand and led her upstairs. They both knew all too well what would happen next.

Once they were out of sight, Yuth grabbed me by the throat and repeated his accusations.

‘I’m not having an affair, Yuth,’ I gasped.

He released his hold only to slap me across the face. Pain seared through my entire body, starting in my face and shooting down to the very tips of my toes. My face was an open wound and this last slap stung more than all of the others throughout the years put together. Yuth’s hand came away dripping with blood. He looked down at it in disgust, as if it were excrement. He lent forward and wiped it across my chest, leaving a red smear in his wake.