Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (7 page)

He slunk out of the bar, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed low, and I never saw him again.

The bar I was working in on Surawong Road was close to the red-light district called Soi Thaniya. This area caters to the
nihonjin
—the Japanese. These
nihonjin
pay a fortune for Thai hostesses to chat, drink, and sing karaoke with them. Sophisticated-looking women in evening gowns, short dresses, and kimonos call out ‘
Irashaimase
’ (meaning ‘Welcome’) to any passerby who looks Japanese. This place is otherwise known as Japantown and is considered a utopia by its many male customers. The bars were all on good terms with the police, so it was a safe area.

The bar I worked in was often visited by groups of
nihonjin
in search of fun. I never took any notice of them because I couldn’t speak their language; I found it too complex and altogether unfathomable. Personally, I prefer to mix with
farang
s, as I find them more fun and less formal.

When my boss called me aside one day to tell me that a Japanese businessman had expressed an interest in me, I was flabbergasted. I knew the man he was referring to because he had visited the bar several times that week. I had smiled at him and occasionally allowed him to chat to me; I understood very little of what he said, but I would nod my head in agreement at what I thought to be the appropriate junctures in conversation, or smile agreeably from time to time.

The bar was owned by Ichiro, another Japanese expatriate, who nursed a stereotypical love of beer, karaoke, and sushi.

‘Be smart, Bua,’ he advised me. ‘You will sit with Hiroshi and keep him entertained whenever he visits.’

In return, he promised to pay me commission on every drink Hiroshi ordered. In simpler terms, I was getting paid to smile sweetly and nod my head.

Hiroshi was at least 30 years my senior. I didn’t find him physically attractive; on the contrary, he reminded me of Saddam Hussein because he looked more middle-eastern than
nihonjin
. This was probably because of the tan he’d achieved from golfing under the Thai sun.

On the first night I was to entertain him, he appeared at the bar and summoned me to his side to have a drink with him. I did as Ichiro had instructed me and greeted him like a long-lost friend.

He responded in Thai, but his pronunciation was unintelligible. Of course, I smiled and pretended to understand him. The waiter came over to our table with a tray containing a flask of sake and a square, wooden cup. I poured the sake into the cup, filling it to the brim to signify prosperity. He stared at me as he sipped the drink. I was wary that another girl might try to catch his attention so I tried to maintain eye contact with him. He had a hungry look in his eyes as they lowered to take in the rest of my body. His gaze lingered over my legs and breasts until he had satisfied his hunger.

What followed was a drunken flirtation that lasted several hours. He complimented me on my beauty several times and patted my thigh suggestively. He was boisterous and loud and did most of the talking, leaving me to just smile agreeably.

Moments before the bar closed for the night, he asked me if I was a virgin. Although he was drunk, he was still lucid enough to understand the implications of asking such a question. I knew it was common for Japanese men to take mistresses, or what they called
aijin
. I lied and told him that my virtue was still intact. My answer had been an instinctive thing, but it both surprised and alarmed me. It was a small and simple lie, yet one that carried a lot of weight; it suggested a willingness to go down a path I had previously never dreamed I would step foot on.

Hiroshi smiled at my reply. He didn’t ask me to sleep with him that night. He stood up, waved goodbye to Ichiro, and wished me goodnight. He returned the following night and beckoned me to his side. This time, he didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. He addressed me in Thai to ensure that I understood what he meant.

I was speechless. Hiroshi wanted me to move into an apartment he owned. I felt shyness envelop me, but his warm smile helped to put me at ease.

‘Hiroshi, you shouldn’t tease me with such offers.’

But he assured me he was not joking.

‘You can play the innocent girl with me if you wish, but I understand girls like you.’

With that he called to the waiter for more sake, and then changed the topic of conversation. I knew that this was his way of giving me some time to consider the proposal.

I couldn’t help but recall Chai and all the pain I had suffered during our brief marriage. I was wary of getting into another relationship so soon after him. Hiroshi was wealthy beyond belief, but I was new to this world and, in my naivety, I didn’t realise the significance of this. It was only after I had politely declined his offer that I realised how envious the other girls were of me. It was their ultimate goal to meet a rich man who could take care of them. If there was even a hint of wealth about a customer, all of the girls in the bar would flock around him, fiercely competing with one another to catch his eye. I would soon learn the tricks of the trade and become much more astute, but for now I was still innocent.

Hiroshi interpreted my rejection as a sign that I was different to the other girls. We developed an unlikely friendship. He would come to the bar every night, sing karaoke, and drink sake until he was so drunk he could no longer stand. I think that he also fooled himself into believing that I was just playing hard to get, and he seemed more than prepared to do plenty of chasing. He visited me every night, after he had finished work for the day, and he was usually laden down with gifts.

Although I had nothing but platonic feelings for Hiroshi, I did flirt with him; I saw it as a small trade-off for maintaining the money his patronage provided. Hiroshi, in turn, saw his gifts as money well-spent as they helped him assert a false sense of ownership. Knowing he had good connections in Japantown, I decided to ask Hiroshi to find me a better job. I had no idea what he had in mind for me.

His friend owned a bar called Jasmine’s on Soi Thaniya, and I agreed to work there on the assumption that I would be behind the bar. I had no idea that I was soon to become a commodity, a product to be picked out and paid for. When I presented myself to the manageress, or what we called the
mamasan
, she immediately requested that I change out of the outfit I arrived in and into a silk dress with a blue tag with ‘34’ written on it.

I looked confusedly at Hiroshi, who was standing nearby, but he waved his hand as if to dismiss my concerns.

‘Pay no attention to her,
mamasan
,’ he said. ‘I know this girl and she is grateful for the opportunity you are giving her.’

‘Hiroshi…’ I started to say but he interrupted me by gently nudging me into the dressing room.

‘You are here to entertain me and nothing else. Don’t be foolish Bua. Do you think I would deceive you?’

In the dressing room the other girls assured me that Hiroshi had arranged for me to work there in order to prevent other men from meeting me. He would be able to control who I spent my time with, and who I was allowed to speak to. I trusted that he cared about me, so this seemed like a plausible suggestion, although I was vaguely uncomfortable with being brought into a world where women were lined up like pieces of jewellery that men could select as they wished—even if we were just providing company to them.

Before I turned 19, I had accidentally become a hostess and would spend the following seven years working at Jasmine’s. Every night, I lined up with the other girls, smiling graciously at the patrons who selected, with
mamasan
’s help and recommendation, which one of us he wanted to be his hostess for the night. My situation in Jasmine’s was unusual compared to other hostesses because
mamasan
was told to keep me available for Hiroshi alone. She always informed me of Hiroshi’s arrival, and I would join him at his table immediately, regardless of who I was entertaining at the time.

Hiroshi proved to be the caring man I had first believed him to be. He did everything in his power to make my life as enjoyable as possible. He showered me with money and attention during his pursuit of my affections. I saw him as my guardian; someone who gently guided me in life, but who also allowed me considerable freedom. He paid handsomely for my company, but he generally permitted me to talk to other clients if he was not present, allowing me to earn commission on the drinks they ordered. I earned 80 baht in commission for every drink they bought. Besides the drinks commission, I earned a fixed wage of 8,000 baht a month and Hiroshi never failed to tip me 500 baht each night that I accompanied him.

In fact, the Japanese were easy to work with because I didn’t have to ask if they would like to order a drink. Once I sat with a client, a waiter instantly came with a tray of drinks and put a glass of cola in front of me, which would also earn me commission. Japanese men knew what was expected of them and were very generous with money. I rarely had to ask them to buy me a drink.

Still, I dared not think what would happen to me if Hiroshi’s opinion of me ever changed or if he discovered that I was not a virgin
,
but the mother of a young child.

Months passed by while Hiroshi and I followed this same routine of late-night drinking, flirting, and cavorting. Then one night he arrived at the bar with a Japanese woman.

‘Bua, this is my wife,’ he said by way of introduction.

My breath caught and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

‘
Mai pen rai
, Bua. It’s all right, she knows all about you.’

My first thought was that this woman was jealous and had come to the bar to confront me. But her expression was blank. She was polite to me and remained impassive, even when Hiroshi introduced me as his
aijin
. I was a little embarrassed by his crudeness, but she nodded in approval and bowed to me politely. I returned the gesture.

‘
Kombanwa watashi wa
Bua
desu
,’ I said, formally introducing myself in Japanese.

She smiled, which unnerved me slightly, all the time maintaining a courteous expression.

I accompanied Hiroshi and his wife to a table where I waited on them for the evening. If she despised me, she did an excellent job of concealing it, and she maintained her composure for the duration of the night.

When they finally decided to leave, she approached me and bowed once again. I returned the courtesy. It was then that I realised she did not feel threatened by me. She had probably known of my existence for some time, although I must confess that I hadn’t known of hers—I had deliberately not asked Hiroshi about that aspect of his life.

Hiroshi returned to Jasmine’s alone the following night. He sat in his usual seat and ordered a drink. I sat down beside him and he could tell straight away that I was angry.

‘Sit with me, girl. There are some things that you do not understand,’ he said.

‘I am Japanese. My wife knows that I have a Thai girlfriend. I am a man. My wife and I lead separate lives.’

He went on to explain that his wife lived in Japan with the children, while he lived in Thailand. He hadn’t been back to Japan in a long time, and she only rarely came to Thailand. I had witnessed first-hand his wife’s strange acceptance of the situation the previous night, so I knew that he was not lying.

‘That is the end of the matter. We will speak no more of my wife,’ he said, as he stroked my thigh.

Though I enjoyed Hiroshi’s attention, as time passed, it became a little too routine. He would visit me at the bar every night, arriving between 7pm and 8pm, and leaving at 1am. I occasionally met other men, but Hiroshi ensured that developing a relationship with any of them was out of the question. His patronage secured me a luxurious lifestyle; I regularly dined at five-star restaurants and spent his money on extravagant shopping sprees. The other girls at Jasmine’s found his behaviour almost incomprehensible. He was spending all this money on me, and yet I still refused to become his mistress.

I, however, knew what attracted him. The truth was that he was not really in love with me, but simply saw my coy ‘innocence’ as a challenge. Though I never responded to his advances, he did everything in his power to make me feel special and loved. He declared his undying love for me on a daily basis, and begged me to put him out of his misery and become his mistress. He asked me when I would give in to his demands, but I refused to answer.

His influence on my life extended beyond the bar where I worked. In time, I introduced Hiroshi to
mae
, to whom he began sending money every month. He even sent her souvenirs from countries that he visited on his business trips. Though he was older than
mae
and she must have been suspicious of our relationship, she never asked any questions.

All of my friends in the bar envied my arrangement with Hiroshi. They regarded his patronage as essentially money for nothing.

I wasn’t Hiroshi’s first Thai girlfriend. He had supported several girls and their families before me, though all of these relationships had ended when he discovered they had been unfaithful. I came to conclude that his interest in me was fuelled by his obsession with my virginity; he was still blissfully unaware of the fact that I had lost it long ago.

Sometimes, when I was feeling daring, I would ask Hiroshi why he continued to pursue me.

‘Why do you come here everyday? I want to talk to other clients, too, you know.’

He would smile at me dismissively, as if dealing with a spoilt child. He wasn’t accustomed to hearing a girl talk to him in such a disrespectful way.

He showered me with gifts of Japanese jewellery. In the beginning, I assumed that these were precious gifts he wished to bestow on his precious girlfriend. But in time I discovered that he was hesitant to give me Thai jewellery in case I sold it—foreign gold commanded a poor price in Bangkok.