Private Dancer (30 page)

Using a circular movement, pipe a spiral of the egg mixture into the simmering syrup, making the swirls about 5cm in diameter with a small hole in the centre. Cook the spirals briefly until set, then use a skewer or chopstick in the center hole to transfer to a plate.

PHIRAPHAN The Sunan investigation was a piece of cake. I sent around one of my girls to the apartment block where she lived, pretending to be doing market research for a cable TV company, offering free cable in exchange for participating in a survey. She got a list of who was staying in the room, with ID card numbers, the works. Vernon had told me that Sunan's brother Bird often stayed with her and that he drove her around in a Toyota pick-up truck that her father owned. All a lie, of course. Sunan owned the truck, she'd obviously paid for it with the money she'd made from the bars. She had three bank accounts with more than half a million baht on deposit. And every month a Norwegian guy transferred forty thousand baht into one of the accounts.

But the really bad news so far as Vernon was concerned was that Bird wasn't Sunan's brother.

He was her boyfriend. In fact, two weeks after Vernon went back to America, Sunan and Bird were married in Surin. The wedding hasn't been registered with the authorities yet, and there's a good chance it won't be because Sunan's marriage to Vernon has already been registered, I suppose she's serious about wanting to get a visa to join him in America. I sent a full report to Vernon, along with an invoice for the rest of his bill.

PETE I called Vernon to see if he'd heard from Phiraphan. He said that Phiraphan had sent him a report but he didn't believe it and was refusing to pay his bill. It seems that Phiraphan had discovered that Bird was Sunan's boyfriend, not her brother. I can't say that I was surprised, but Vernon kept saying it was impossible, he'd seen the two of them together and they didn't act like boyfriendgirlfriend. When Vernon had first met Sunan, he'd slept in her room with her. And while he was in bed with Sunan, Bird had slept on the floor. I tried to explain that Thais were different, that Bird wouldn't care because he knew that Sunan loved him and that she was only sleeping with Vernon for the money. Vernon wouldn't have that, he accused me of lying and getting Phiraphan to lie, too.

I asked him why on earth I'd do that and he said it was because I was angry at Joy, that I was trying to break him and Sunan up to get back at Sunan's sister.

I was stunned. Gob-smacked. There I was trying to save him from himself, to point out the dangers of getting involved with a hardened hooker. I told him what a liar Sunan was, I told him that she was one of the hardest-working hookers in Nana Plaza, and I told him about the Norwegian guy who'd been supporting her for years. He just wouldn't listen.

He told me that Sunan was different, that she loved him, and I said that couldn't possibly be so: he couldn't speak Thai, her English was basic at best. They could barely communicate, so how could she love him? Did he think he was that special?

He wouldn't listen. There was nothing I could say that would sway him from his conviction that he'd found the love of his life. He was a lost cause. A sad fuck.

Eventually I slammed the phone down on him. I was fuming. He'd accused me of lying, he'd believed Sunan over me. He'd believed her despite the evidence that Phiraphan had provided.

What really annoyed me was that the things that I'd said to Vernon were a virtual replay of what Damien had told me about Joy. And the phrases that Vernon had used to defend Sunan were almost word for word what I'd said to Damien. She's different. She loves me. She knows I'll take care of her. No matter what she's done in the past, she'll change once she knows she can trust me. If I can take her out of her environment, she'll change.

I decided that if Vernon was so determined to throw his life away, I wasn't going to try to stop him, and then I wondered if that was how Damien had felt about me.

I wanted to get back at Joy, I wanted to show her that she hadn't won the game. I went back to Zombie and tried to bar fine Dit again. She kept saying no, that she was scared of what Joy would do, but after half an hour or so she said it would be okay if Cat went as well. I was fine with that, I'd be having sex with Joy's step-sister and her friend, too. That would show Joy that I didn't care any more. Dit made a big play of shouting across to Cat and asking if she wanted to “bai gin khao”, to go and eat, and Cat agreed. They'd obviously both rehearsed the little double act because there was no question of going to eat - we went straight back to the apartment.

Again, there was no shyness on Dit's part, or Cat's either. If anything, they were even more enthusiastic. I'm not sure how I felt about it. The sex was great, but knowing that it was purely a business transaction took a lot of the enjoyment out of it. And it was also becoming obvious that they didn't care whether or not Joy knew what I'd done.

They stayed for almost two hours - I gave Dit six thousand baht and Cat four thousand. That was way over the going rate but I wanted Joy to know that the money didn't matter.

I fell asleep, but about half an hour later I was woken up by someone knocking on the door. It was Bruce. I asked him what he wanted but he kept repeating “are you alone?” I was still half asleep so I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the door. He was grinning like a masturbating chimp, pissed out of his skull. “You got anyone in there?” he leered, trying to peer around the door. When I said I hadn't, he gave me a drunken thumbs up. “That's lucky, 'cos I've got someone who wants to see you.” He scurried down the corridor like a demented gnome and reappeared with Joy. It was three o'clock in the morning.

BRUCE I couldn't believe it when I saw her. I was on my way out of the Plaza, slightly the worse for wear, when I hear someone calling my name. It's Joy, too much make-up as usual, running along the pavement and waving. She was wearing a huge Mickey Mouse shirt that I think Pete used to wear and blue jeans, and big black clumpy shoes. She was out of breath, and started telling me that she'd just arrived from Surin and didn't have anywhere to stay. I said she could stay with me and we got into a taxi.

“I not care if Pete have lady, I sleep on sofa,” she said. She showed me callouses on her thumbs that she said she'd got from planting rice for the past month.

“Why did you leave Bangkok?” I asked.

“Pete tell me to go,” she said. “He say he not want me work Zombie, he say he want me go Surin.”

I don't get Pete, I really don't. This bloody girl has done everything he's ever asked of her. He tells her to go to Surin, she goes. He tells her not to dance, she doesn't dance. He tells her to call him, she does. She showed me the tattoo on her left shoulder, a red winged heart with his name in it. Does he think she'd do that if she didn't love him? I've told him time and time again he should give the girl a chance, let her live with him so that he can keep an eye on her twenty-four hours a day. He'd soon know if she was serious or not. I mean, look at what she did to her wrist,

for God's sake. She carved his name into the flesh with a piece of broken glass.

I told her that Pete thought she had a Thai boyfriend, but she shook her head earnestly. “No have, Bruce. You must tell Pete I have him only one.” I believe her, but Pete just keeps on wanting to test her. It's like he wants to test her to destruction, you know? I think he'll only be happy if she kills herself.

Anyway, when I opened the door to the apartment, there were no girl's shoes to be seen so I was pretty sure he was alone. I knocked on the door and told him Joy was there, then left them to it. Regular little Cupid, aren't I?

PETE I didn't know what to say to her. Totally lost for words. I mean, she'd been gone for almost five weeks. She was wearing the Mickey Mouse shirt I'd given her almost a year ago.

We spent the best part of two hours talking, but it was the same old routine. I told her I knew that she'd been with her husband all the time she'd been working as a waitress. She denied it. I told her that I knew her bar fine had been paid, that she'd left the bar with at least one farang. She denied it. She in turn wanted to know why I'd barfined Dit and Cat. I told her why, because I wanted her to know that they weren't really her friends. And because I wanted to talk to them about her, and her husband.

“Why you give them money too much?” she asked. "You give Dit six thousand baht. Why,

Pete? I don't understand."

The conversation went nowhere. I asked her where she was staying and she just shrugged. “I go see my friend,“ she said. ”Maybe I can stay with her.”

I asked her where her clothes were, and she said she kept some with her friends and some with Sunan. All she had with her was a small bag containing her make-up and her bright red wallet. My picture was still there. After everything that had happened, she still carried my photograph in her wallet.

I told her she could stay with me that night and she hugged me and kissed me. We made love,

twice, and I fell asleep holding her.

We didn't wake up until after mid-day. We started talking again, and within minutes we were covering the same old ground, the same old accusations. It was as if I couldn't stop pushing her,

trying to provoke a reaction, like sucking cold air into a tooth cavity, knowing that it's going to hurt but doing it none the less. She kept repeating that she had split up with her husband, that she hadn't told me that he was working in Zombie because she hadn't wanted me to worry, and that she had never, repeat never, let a customer pay her bar fine while she'd been working as a waitress. I wanted to believe her, God I wanted to believe her.

She went into the bathroom while I dressed. When she came out, she had a wad of toilet tissue pressed against her left wrist. “Pete,” she said haltingly. “You not believe me. So I give you my blood.” She took away the tissue and held out her left arm. Two deep razor cuts ran across her wrist, and blood dripped on to the carpet. She smiled. “I love you, Pete. I not have husband.”

I sat her down on the bed. The cuts were deep, but she'd only cut the skin leaving the muscles underneath untouched. She'd cut her wrists many times before and clearly knew what she was doing, but that didn't make what she'd done any less horrific. I got more tissue and held it against the cuts to stem the flow of blood.

I kept asking her why she'd done it. “Because I love you,” she said. “I want you know I love you.” I put some antiseptic on the cuts and covered them with sticking plaster. I didn't know what to do or say. I gave her two thousand baht. I wanted her out of the apartment, but at the same time I wanted to ask her to stay with me for ever.

I asked if she was planning to work in Zombie again but she said she didn't want to go anywhere near Nana Plaza. “I want to be good girl for you,” she said. I asked her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted a room where she could stay on her own, and then maybe she'd try to find a job in a restaurant or a shop. I knew she wouldn't be able to support herself,

not if she was planning to live alone. Her wages as a waitress in a restaurant wouldn't even cover her rent and before I knew what I was doing, I heard myself offering to pay for her room and her utilities.

She threw herself at me and gave me a big hug. “I love you too much,” she said. “I give you key to my room, you can come see me when you want. You can check me every day.”

I sat on the bed with her until the bleeding stopped and then I bandaged her wrist. The cuts didn't appear to bother her at all, she seemed to be far more interested in where she should live and how much I was prepared to pay for her rent. We decided on a maximum of four thousand baht a month.

BIG RON Pete came in with a big sloppy grin on his face like he'd just won the lottery. “Joy's back,” I said,

and his face fell like I'd spoiled it for him.

“How did you know?” he asked, like I was with MI5 or something.

I just shook my head and called him a sad fuck. He just doesn't get it. Joy's a hooker, a hardbitten professional who's only interested in one thing, his money. I reckon every farang has a weak spot, no matter how long they've lived here, no matter how much they think they know,

and Joy is Pete's Achilles heel. You've only got to look at her to know how she feels about him,

you can see it in her eyes. An ATM, that's all she thinks he is, a fucking money machine. She presses the right buttons and money comes out, and one ATM is pretty much like any other.

There's a guy I know, Squeaky they call him on account of his high-pitched voice. Squeaky got himself a Thai wife, pretty little thing that used to dance in Soi Cowboy. He buys a house in her name and for a few months he's as happy as Larry. Then his wife says that her father isn't well and that he has to come and live with them. No problem, says Squeaky, there's plenty of room. So then his wife says that her father is going to have sleep in her room. That means Squeaky is relegated to the spare bedroom. The old man arrives, though actually he isn't that old, as it turns out. Squeaky's wife says that her father was still in his teens when she was born, that he was quite a bit younger than her mother. Squeaky still doesn't smell a rat, and she fucks him regularly in the spare room, but I ask you, what the hell does he think's going on? He came in here last week and told everyone that he'd bought his wife a four-baht gold necklace but that her father was now wearing it. “Why would she give it to her father?” he asked. Because it's not her fucking father, it's her fucking husband, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Sometimes there's no telling people. You have to let them make their own mistakes.

That's how it is with Pete. He'll find out eventually. I learned my lesson years ago, I got ripped off big time and it'll never happen again. You've just got to start with the premise that everything you hear in the bars is a lie. I pay their bar fines, fuck them, and then send them packing. That's the only way to treat them. I won't ever let them stay the night. Ever. That's a rule. They're hookers and hookers don't stay the night. Once I've come, they're out. I'll kick them out if I have to, but out they go. Receptacles for jism, that's all they are, and to treat them as anything else is just asking for trouble.