Private Dancer (10 page)

Joy was really unhappy that I was going. She gripped my arm when I told her as if she were scared that I was going there and then. “You sure you come back, Pete?” she said.

Her anxiety was so cute. I assured her that I'd be back and told her that I'd phone and write as often as I could.

“I write to you too, Pete. Every day. I miss you too much.” I gave her Alistair's address and telephone number.

That night I paid bar fine and we went to our favourite German restaurant in Soi 4.

Afterwards I took her back to the Dynasty Hotel. It was the first time I'd taken her back to my hotel, and I could see she was pleased. She stayed all night and in the morning I gave her five thousand baht and told her I'd see her in three weeks and that I wanted her to be a good girl.

“Of course, Pete,” she said, looking shocked. “What you think? I have you, only one.” On the day I left, she went to the airport with me, and there were tears in her eyes when I kissed her goodbye. I gave her five thousand baht and she promised to write every day.

JOY Five thousand baht? How was I supposed to live for three weeks on five thousand baht? I didn't say anything to Pete but I didn't wai him. Five thousand baht? I couldn't understand why he was being so stingy. He asked me to write to him every day and to phone him. Phone him? He's no idea how expensive it is to phone abroad. And I had to pay another monthly installment on my motorcycle, so that was five thousand baht right there. I'd promised him not to go with any other farangs, didn't he understand that he'd have to take care of me? Sometimes farangs can be so stupid. But Pete should know better, he's lived in Bangkok for months and he's writing a book about Thailand so he must know the way things are. What does he think? That I should stop going with farangs and live on rice and water?

PETE Alistair and I worked flat out on the book, pretty much fifteen hours a day for the whole three weeks. We only broke to eat and sleep. He was right, four weeks would have made more sense but I didn't want to be away from Bangkok too long. After the first week I began checking Alistair's mail box every morning but there was never a letter from Joy. And she didn't phone. I couldn't call her so it was up to her to contact me, and I was hurt that she didn't. I wondered what had happened. Maybe she'd lost her wallet with my address. Maybe her handwriting was bad and the postman couldn't read it. Maybe she'd put the wrong stamp on it and it was coming by surface mail in which any letters she sent would take several weeks to get to me. I'd told her that she could phone me by reversing the charges, but maybe she hadn't understood. There were so many ‘maybes’ that it was ridiculous. The one maybe that I wouldn't consider was that maybe she'd forgotten all about me.

Three days before I was due to fly back, she sent me a fax. “Pete, I love you too much. I cannot dance.” That was all. Nine words. It was typical of Joy, I guess. Faxes cost a set fee per page. Something like four hundred baht. She could have sent me a thousand words on the page for the same price. Having said that, what she wrote really touched me. Alistair thought it was really funny, but he's got no soul.

When I did go back to Bangkok, I checked into the Dynasty Hotel again. I don't know why I hadn't moved into somewhere more permanent, guess I was just lazy. I had a big room and cable TV and room service, and I was paying a thousand baht a day, about seven hundred quid a month. The company was paying me an accommodation allowance of a thousand pounds a month, and for that I could get a decent sized apartment. I'd have to sign a long-term lease and put down deposits for the utilities, and Thailand being Thailand, I preferred the convenience of a hotel, for the time being at least. Plus, they were happy to keep stuff in storage for me while I was away so I didn't have to keep the room on.

Anyway, as soon as I'd checked in and got my things out of storage, I walked around to Zombie. Joy was dancing and she grinned and waved when she saw me. She had to wait until her dancing shift finished before coming over to hug me. I paid her bar fine straight away so that she didn't have to dance again. She went off to change and came back in blue jeans and a tight black top. I bought her a cola and told her that I hadn't got any letters.

“Pete, I write to you too much,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

She looked offended by my doubts. "Pete, why I lie to you? How much does a stamp cost?

Twelve baht? I go post office too much."

I didn't know what to say. For the three weeks I was away there had been no letters and no phone calls.

“You get my fax?” she asked.

“Yes, I did,” I said. Despite what she'd written in the fax, she didn't seem to have any problem dancing. In fact, before she'd seen me, she was gyrating around a silver pole as sexily and enthusiastically as the first day I'd laid eyes on her.

“You like?” she asked.

“Sure.” Actually, I suddenly got the feeling that she'd sent the fax for my benefit rather than hers. She'd done it because she knew that's what I wanted. And the message about her not being able to dance, that's what I wanted to hear, too. It was as if she was pressing my buttons. I remembered something Big Ron had once said to me: that girls regard farangs as ATM machines. They press the right buttons and money comes out. And if one ATM machine is shut down, they can easily find another one. Was that what Joy was doing, pressing my buttons for cash? I noticed that the gold bracelet I'd given her for her birthday was missing.

She saw me looking at her wrist. “Pete, I sorry, I have no money,” she said. She made a pressing motion with her thumb, the sign Thai use to show that they've pawned something. “I have to pay my rent and I have no money.”

I was stunned. The bracelet had been made of interlinked hearts. I'd spent ages choosing it in the jewellers, it was something that I felt showed what I felt about her. I had given her my heart. And she'd sold it, the first chance she got. I stood up. She caught hold of my arm. “Pete, I want you understand me,” she said.

I shook her away. “It was a birthday present, Joy. If you'd needed money, you could have asked me.”

“You not here,” she said. Her chin was up in defiance. She wasn't sorry, she was angry. She felt that it was me who was in the wrong.

I wanted to tell her that I'd checked the mailbox for a letter from her every day, that most of the time I'd been in Hong Kong I'd been thinking about her. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but the look on her face stopped me. She'd sold the gold I'd given her and she didn't care. The fact it was made up of hearts, the fact that I'd given it to her on her birthday, the night I'd paid for her party, all of that meant nothing compared with the money she'd got for selling it.

She'd said pawned, but that was the same as selling it. If I wanted her to wear it, I'd have to buy it back. I'd have to pay for it twice. And who was to say that she wouldn't sell it again the next time she needed money?

I felt angry and frustrated, I'd come racing back to see her, she'd been all that I'd thought about while I was on the plane, while I was queuing at immigration, while I was in the taxi from the airport. She didn't care about me, all she cared about was my money. I shook her hand off my arm and rushed out of the bar.

JOY What did he expect? He'd left me with five thousand baht. I had bills to pay, Park was pestering me for money and Sunan said I had to send money back to our father. The bar was really quiet so what was I supposed to do? It's okay for Pete, he's a farang, he's got lots of money. He keeps telling me about his apartment in London that he still owns, it's worth almost seven million baht,

he said. And I know he's got money in the bank because whenever we go out he goes to the Thai Farmer’s Bank ATM or the Bangkok Bank. He doesn't know what it's like to have no money, to have to live from hand to mouth.

A few of my friends came over after he'd rushed out of the bar, wanting to know what was wrong. I said he didn't feel well. I didn't want them to know that he was angry at me. I waited for half an hour, and when he didn't come back I changed back into my bikini and started dancing again.

NIGEL Pete came into Fatso's with a face like thunder. I was on to my sixth pint of lager so I was feeling no pain. Jimmy and Rick were doing their best to Big Glass as many of the regulars as they could so I was knocking them back as soon as they arrived. Pete ordered a gin and tonic and drank it down in one. Jimmy rang the bell and Pete drained his second drink almost as fast as the first. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that Joy had sold the gold bracelet he'd given her for her birthday. I wasn't surprised, and he shouldn't have been either. Gold equates to money in Thailand. In fact, that's how you buy it, according to weight. They sell it as one baht, two baht,

three baht, and so on, with each baht equivalent to fifteen grams. The price you have to pay is fixed each day and the jewellers often put the price in their window. Two prices, actually: a buy price and a sell price. I don't know what it is today. Typical Thailand, that, giving the unit of weight the same name as the money. Actually, thinking about it, we do the same in England,

don't we?

Anyway, when you buy a gold chain, they multiply the daily price by the weight, then add on five hundred baht or so for the design, but basically you're paying for the gold, nothing else. It's not like in England where you pay hundreds of pounds for a tiny piece of gold. When a Thai bargirl admires another girl's gold, she's not interested in what it looks like, all she cares about is the weight. The value. I heard Joy and her friends talking about the bracelet at the party. “It's only two baht,” she said. Pete didn't hear her, his Thai isn't that good, and I didn't say anything to him because I know how he feels about her. What I'm saying is, to her it was just money she could wear on her wrist, but to Pete it was a token of his love.

“Forget it, Pete,” I said, “she's just a hooker.”

“Fuck off, Nigel, you don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

“She's a bargirl.”

He glared at me. “She's a dancer. She's stopped hooking.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

Rick rang the bell so I drained my glass before the next one arrived. So did Pete. Noo put a tequila and orange in front of Alan which meant he had four untouched glasses so they were taken away and poured into a big glass. Alan was up in the loo, so he had a nasty surprise waiting for him. He'd drink it, though. He always did. He'd drink it in one and then rush outside to throw up before the alcohol got into his system. Smart guy, is Alan. He's an analyst with a big stockbroking firm, a Japanese one I think, and he earns a fortune.

“What do you mean, yeah right?” asked Pete. He looked at me sideways. More of a stare than a look. Baleful. Like he wanted to smash his glass into my face. Whatever Joy had said to him,

she'd really screwed him up.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, what do you mean?” “You don't want to know.”

Jimmy and Rick were openly listening. Big Ron winked at them. He knew what I knew and I could see that he was bursting for me to spill the beans.

Pete turned to face me. “Don't fuck around, Nigel. If you know something, tell me.”

I hadn't been planning to tell him, I really hadn't. I knew how he felt about Joy, and I knew that if I did tell him he probably wouldn't believe me. But now that she'd sold his gold, he'd be more receptive. I just hoped he wouldn't want to kill the messenger.

“She went out with a customer. When you were in Hong Kong.”

Pete closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

“I wasn't going to say anything...” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Big, fat, German,” I said.

“Was she holding his hand?”

Big Ron chuckled but turned it into a coughing fit when Pete glared at him. I could see Big Ron's point. It didn't really matter if he was holding her hand, did it? Not compared with what they'd be getting up to in a short-time hotel.

“Yeah, I think she was.”

“When was this?”

“Hell, Pete, I don't know. About a week after you went.”

“Did she see you?”

“She walked right by me, but she didn't say anything.”

“Shameless hussy,” said Rick, and dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Alan came down the stairs and groaned at the sight of the big glass.

“Just the once?” asked Pete.

“I wasn't in Zombie much, to be honest,” I said.

Pete put his head in his hands. “Fucking hookers,” he muttered.

“I'll drink to that,” said Jimmy.

I ordered another drink for Pete. So did Rick. Then Big Ron rang the bill and Pete had four drinks in front of him so he was Big Glassed with gin and tonic. Just over two pints, and Pete drank it down in one. He was legless by the time the bar closed and Rick and Jimmy had to help him back to his hotel.

PETE I woke up with a hell of a hangover, but I was barely aware of how badly I felt because all I could think about was Joy. I tried to work, but it wasn't any good. I wanted to confront her with her infidelity, but I knew there was no point. Nigel had seen her leaving with a customer. End of story. And she'd sold the heart bracelet I'd given her, the bracelet she'd so proudly displayed to her friends and family. I spent most of the day pacing around the room. I didn't even want to go to Fatso's Bar: I ordered a club sandwich from room service but hardly touched it. I kept looking at my watch, wondering why she didn't phone. She must have known how angry I was.

I tried to get some work done, but failed miserably. Every time I switched on my laptop computer all I could do was stare at the screen. The words wouldn't come. At seven thirty I became really depressed because I knew she'd be arriving for work at Zombie. She'd be changing into her bikini and tying her jungle print sarong around her waist, strutting around in her high heels looking for farangs to fleece. If she was working, she wouldn't phone. And if she was angry at me, maybe she'd let someone pay her bar fine to get back at me. Thoughts of her kept running through my mind, thoughts of her flirting with another man, walking out of the bar with him, screwing him in a short-time hotel, doing everything with him that she'd done with me.

Thinking of her with someone else made me sick to the stomach, but I couldn't stop, I kept tormenting myself.

Eight o'clock passed. Nine o'clock. I tried watching television but I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about was Joy.

I kept picking up the telephone, to check that it was working. Once I got an outside line and dialled the hotel's number, to reassure myself that there was nothing wrong with the switchboard.

When I heard the operator say “Dynasty Hotel” I hung up, feeling stupid. She hadn't called. She wouldn't call.

By the time ten o'clock came I was so wound up that I couldn't stay in the room any longer. I didn't feel like going to Fatso's because I was sure Nigel had told everybody what Joy had done.

And I couldn't bear going to Nana Plaza, knowing that Joy was there, either dancing or in a short-time hotel. I went out of the Dynasty and flagged down a motorcycle taxi. I told the guy I wanted to go to Patpong. There wasn't much traffic and he drove so fast that my eyes were soon streaming with tears. He dropped me at the Silom Road end of Patpong and I threaded my way through the tourists and touts. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, I just wanted to find some way of blotting Joy out of my mind. I wanted noise, I wanted alcohol, I wanted a girl who wasn't Joy.

I wanted to go straight back to Soi 4 and confront her, to tell her that I knew she'd been with another farang, that she'd betrayed me, but I knew there was no point. She'd only deny it.

I stopped outside the Takara Massage Parlour. It was on the third floor and the entrance was via a lift which opened on to the street. I'd been there a couple of times with Bruce and Nigel,

and while it wasn't a place I particularly liked, I wanted to get off the street, to get away from the tourists.

The lift doors opened into a reception area, and to the left was a small bar. I sat down and ordered a gin and tonic, a large one. I drank half of it and then turned around to face the large window that was set into the wall. Behind the glass were twenty or so girls in evening dresses,

each with a small blue numbered badge pinned to their chest. Most were young, in their early twenties, but there were several older women, too. A few were smiling at me, their backs arched and breasts thrust forward to make the most of their assets, but the majority of the girls were watching a small television set in the corner. Some of the girls were crying and they were passing around a box of tissues. “See anything you like?” asked the mamasan, a fifty-something woman with permed hair and a mole in the middle of her chin.

I drained my glass and ordered another from the girl behind the bar. “Not yet,” I said. “But give me time.” I asked her why the girls were crying and she said that they were watching a Thai soap opera and that one of the characters was dying of Aids.

I drank my second gin and tonic. Then a third. I stared at the girls. None looked like Joy, but maybe that was a good thing.

Two farangs stepped out of the lift and went over to the window. They were drunk and began making faces at the girls. The mamasan went over to them and encouraged them to choose,

recommending two girls who had only recently arrived in Bangkok.

“Very young,” said the mamasan. "Their ID say they eighteen, but I can tell you they younger.“ She leaned forward and in a stage whisper, said, ”Number twenty-three only sixteen.

Almost a virgin."

I had another gin and tonic while the two drunks selected girls. The older of the two men with a beer gut hanging over the waistband of his trousers, chose number twenty three. The mamasan rapped on the window and mouthed the numbers to the girls. They stood up and a few minutes later came out of a side door, each carrying a shopping basket containing liquid soap, talcum powder, KY jelly and condoms.

The girls went upstairs with the tourists, chatting to themselves in Thai. My Thai was just good enough to follow what they were saying. Number twenty three was complaining about her customer being fat and ugly. Think of the money, said the other one.

“You decide?” the mamasan asked me.

I was feeling light-headed, as if my mind were slightly out of kilter with my body. I pointed at a slightly plump girl with shoulder-length hair. She looked nothing like Joy: she was very pale skinned and had a long nose, probably the result of plastic surgery. Lots of girls paid for plastic implants which made their noses look more like farangs. “Her,” I said.

“She Jo-jo,” said the mamasan, waving at the girl.

“I don't care,” I said. Jo-jo wasn't a Thai name. She was just using it when she worked with farangs. But I meant what I said. I didn't care about her name. I just wanted to use her to blot Joy out of my thoughts.

Jo-jo came out with her shopping basket. She was wearing a long electric blue dress with a low-cut cleavage that emphasised breasts that were obviously as false as her nose. I asked her what she wanted to drink and she said whisky and Coke so I bought her one and another double gin and tonic for myself. I told her I wanted to go upstairs straight away. The rooms containing the showers and baths were on the fourth and fifth floors. I paid the cashier five hundred baht for a full body massage and Jo-jo and I went to the fifth.

I sat on a massage table while Jo-jo set the airconditioner and turned on the bath taps. She switched on a red light and turned off the main fluorescent lights, then slid off the dress. She wasn't wearing any underwear and had a good, full figure. She helped me undress, checked the temperature of the water, then helped me into the bath. I lay back and she slid in between my legs, facing me. She washed me, humming quietly to herself, cleaning everywhere, even between my toes. I leaned over and picked up my gin and tonic and drank it as she worked. She climbed out of the bath and used a lump of soft soap to lather up a bowl of water which she poured over a thick blue plastic mat on the floor. I got out and lay face down on the mat, my head on a thick rubber pillow. Jo-jo used her body to massage me, rubbing herself up and down,

along my back, between my legs, slowly at first and then more vigorously. I had my eyes closed and I kept thinking about Joy. Joy had never given me a massage, I don't think she even knew how to, but I couldn't stop imagining it was her.

Jo-jo rolled over me and told me to turn over. She knelt down next to the mat and prepared another bowl of hot, soapy water and poured it over me, concentrating the flow over my groin and thighs. She lowered herself on top of me and began rubbing herself against me, her large breasts against my chest, her thighs against my groin. I felt myself growing hard and she moved more sensuously as if she were making love to me. Jo-jo was a professional, though, and there was never any chance of my accidentally entering her without a condom.

“You want fuck me?” she whispered.

I opened my eyes. “Huh?”

“One thousand baht, you can fuck me.” She ground herself harder against me and parted her lips in what she must have thought was a sexy pout. She looked like a goldfish gasping for air.

“Okay,” I said.

She pushed herself up against me and groped in her shopping basket for a condom. After ripping the packet open with her teeth she took out the condom and slid it on to me. It was something she'd obviously done hundreds of times before, totally mechanical movements devoid of any sensuality. Thoughts of Joy suddenly flooded through my mind and I felt my erection start to subside.