Thai Girl (6 page)

They all stood on the kerb waiting for a gap in the steady flow of taxis and tuk tuks.

‘Better use the pedestrian crossing,' suggested Ben.

‘Whatever for? Drivers never stop!' said Chuck knowingly. But as he crossed the road, it was streetwise Chuck who stepped on one of life's banana skins. Dashing across the
soi,
his big mistake was to ignore a primary rule for avoiding collisions between pedestrians … he was foolish enough to look an oncoming Thai girl in the eye.

Later in the bar, Maca explained the rule's fatal effect.

‘You see it's like this, Chuck. When there's someone coming towards ya', you just gotta avoid eye contact. Look'em in the eye and you're dead … specially if it's a sheila and she's a smasher.'

‘Bullshit, man!'

‘Dinkie die mate … even a smart-arsed American in Bangkok.'

It was as the three men plunged off the kerb into the traffic, cheating death, that Chuck spotted her crossing the road towards him. She was perhaps the loveliest Thai girl he had ever seen, a siren, his nemesis. Petite with an elfin face and in a tight crop top, she had the flowing black hair and belly button of a Greek goddess. Their eyes met and as they closed at speed in the middle of the road, irresistibly drawn together like heat-seeking missiles, they could not help running headlong into each other.

As with most banana skins it all happened in a nanosecond, but for Chuck it seemed agonisingly drawn out in time. Momentarily stunned, he was appalled to observe his glasses leave their allotted place on his nose and fly beyond his reach, slowly falling in a downward parabola. He saw the road come up to meet them and the lenses shatter across the tarmac like slow motion water droplets in a shampoo ad on TV.

Then, as he recovered his equilibrium, he became horribly aware of a battered green and yellow taxi driven in all probability by the Grim Reaper bearing down on him at speed. Having the presence of mind not to hang around in the middle of the road to be scythed down, he made it to the pavement just in time to see the remains of his glasses being pulverised under the nearside wheels of the taxi. Still feeling shocked, Chuck looked around myopically for a silver lining to his banana skin but sadly the bird had flown, the tasty Thai girl had disappeared.

‘Fuck her!' he swore angrily under his breath.

‘You'd be so lucky,' said Maca, ducking away as Chuck swung at him in
muay Thai
fashion. ‘Got any spare specs, mate?'

‘Yeah, but right now I can't see a damned thing. Tonight I'm screwed!'

‘Well Chuck, it's Nana Plaza, so you can be if that's what you want. Thai tits are too small to see at the best of times so you might as well touch base.' Maca had grasped that he could tease without mercy as Chuck was too blind to catch him. ‘So Ben, me old mate, where shall we take the dim-sighted Yank then?' he laughed.

‘Me and Emm went to the G-String … got more girls than the other bars,' said Ben. ‘Why don't we go there first?'

‘Okay, we can have a few beers and then move on to Caligulas.'

The G-String was exactly as it had been the night before, the girls at the door calling ‘Hallor dalling, come inside,' followed by the plunge into the surreal glitter of lights, plastic and chrome and the sudden shock of bare skin. Ben recognised several of the dancers, though he was disappointed the girl in cargo pants was nowhere to be seen.

They filed into the long padded seats and sat and goggled, or at least Ben did. Chuck could not see anything unless it was within a few inches of his nose, while Maca was unfazed, as if this level of female display was nothing out of the ordinary.

The evening featured Puss in Boots, or to be more precise, puss only in boots. Some of the girls wore cats' ears and whiskers, while others had fluorescent designs on their bodies which glowed iridescent in the purple light. Down one end of the bar, a Thai man was casually painting a girl's skin, his ordinary every day canvas. He worked fast without talking, while the girls chattered together comparing their designs. Ben could see vivid tropical flowers, stylised birds and suggestive slogans; ‘I go with you', and ‘Love me short-time'. As he watched, a garish scorpion flowed from the brush of the artist, its claws angled down towards the girl's crotch.

Soon it was changeover time and the painted ladies filed up onto the platform and each found a pole. It was a bizarre sight, the slim forms writhing around their poles, the paint glowing brightly in the darkness.

‘Blimey mate, see the handprints on her buttocks … nearly shoved his thumbs up her arse.' Maca was almost animated.

‘Where? I can't see a damned thing,' said Chuck in frustration.

‘Sorry mate, you must've been too hands-on before you got yourself a sheila. Don't say they didn't warn you though!'

Chuck looked pained but ignored him.

One beer was enough before they left the G-String and went on to Caligulas, Maca's favourite place. It was probably the largest of the clubs, full of
farang
standing around tall tables, perched on bar stools and mingling with the girls. Maca ordered beers, while Chuck peered blindly about him looking thoroughly miserable.

‘Hey, what's going on over there?' asked Ben. ‘Something's about to start.'

In the corner some curtains had been drawn back, revealing two girls at first awkwardly ignoring the honeyed sounds of Westlife's ‘My Love'.

‘What are they doing?' demanded Chuck.

‘Well it's these ladies … they're having a shower … and they're rubbing soap on each other,' said Maca. ‘And Auntie Gladys, look where that one's putting her hand.'

‘Where?'

‘Never you mind, it's not for the infirm. Cripes, see her move!' he hooted loudly.

‘What's she doin', Maca?'

‘Wouldn't miss this for anything, Chuck. And, ooh look, two more girlies … first proper tits I've seen in Thailand. Yeah, and they like beer too … got a bottle each. No, they don't like beer, they're pouring it down their nipples. Oh yes, they love it … they're licking it off each other.'

‘Holy shit!'

‘And now one of them's on her back, and you know where she's sticking the bottle?'

‘I think it's utterly disgusting,' said Chuck. ‘It's a waste of good beer.'

‘Tell you what gets me,' said Ben. ‘They sell us the most expensive beer in Bangkok and then put us off drinking out of a beer bottle for life.'

‘But I can't see anything,' moaned Chuck again.

‘So get in close and sniff 'em instead, mate.'

‘Think I'm a pervert? I'd look a jerk!' Chuck wailed bitterly.

Ben could now see that the next display was about to start on a small circular stage in the middle of the room.

‘Chuck, it's a sex show! Won't that be nice,' said Maca.

‘Get lost you stoopid dude!'

‘If you can't be polite I shan't tell you about it,' said Maca as a naked woman, definitely no longer a girl, lay on her back on the floor and lit a cigarette.

‘Well, Chuck,' he rambled on, ‘there's this lovely young girl and she's having a smoke. It's really quite Clintonesque! No, not a cigar this time … but just see where she's putting it. And she ain't inhaling either!'

‘You wait ‘til I get my glasses, you asshole,' threatened Chuck.

‘And look, the lady's got some balloons … so now what's going up the Khyber? Yes, I know what it is … it's a blowpipe!'

Chuck heard the bang as the first balloon was shot down by a well-aimed dart.

‘Wouldn't be allowed in the States,' he said. ‘What if one of the darts goes into the crowd?'

‘But this lady never misses. They call her Dead Eyed Dick … or should it be Fanny,' said Maca grinning broadly.

Now the woman was standing up, showing her rapt audience the contents of a bucket. In the bottom was something dark and squirming.

‘Shall I tell you what the lady's got, Chuckie boy? It's froggies … a bucketful of froggies. And you know what she's gonna do with them?'

‘Eat'em maybe?'

‘Yes, eat them … but what with? Think about it, baby! Then they're going to be reborn, resurrected. We're gonna see a miracle!'

‘Don't mind missing this one,' said Chuck frowning.

Even Maca, the unshockable commentator, fell silent. How could he begin to describe such a thing.

‘It's a freak show,' said Ben. ‘But we all come to see it. Why ever?'

‘Because every white-knuckle ride's gotta be tried maybe?' said Maca.

The show continued at Caligulas until late, though it puzzled Ben why the bar owners thought the
farang
would want to witness frog-abuse. It was, of course all done to pull in the punters and sell more beer.

With this in mind the girls on stage that night kept themselves busy writhing around, rubbing oil on themselves, spreading their legs and inserting various implements into each other. But as Ben sat and watched, he kept asking himself why the tourists flock to see Thai girls using their most intimate parts to shoot bananas and ping pong balls into a glass, to blow trumpets, draw pictures with felt tip pens, extinguish the candles on a cake, crush beer cans and even take the tops off bottles of cola. Only the live fish were missing from the menu.

‘The frogs was a bit of a turn-off,' he said as they got up to go.

‘Wouldn't have missed it,' said Maca, back in frivolous mode.

‘I did miss it,' said Chuck, mortified.

They exchanged the pounding of the music and the smoky atmosphere of Caligulas for the noise and exhaust fumes of the traffic. It was late, very late as they raced through the sodium-lit streets, the tuk tuk driver flirting casually with disaster.

Back at the guesthouse on Khao San Road, Ben tried to slip into the room and get into bed without waking Emma.

‘So where did you go? Sukhumvit?' she suddenly asked him out of the darkness.

‘Yes. We watched the
muay Thai
and had some food and a few beers.'

‘But it's far too late … we've got to be up in a few hours to get the bus.'

‘Oh shit, I'd almost forgotten.'

‘Was it only
muay Thai
then?'

‘Yes, well … that's what we went for. Course we had a drink after.'

‘What sort of bar?'

‘An ordinary bar.'

‘Ordinary for Bangkok you mean?'

‘Yeah, Emm, ordinary.'

‘Like Elvis Presley singing psalms on a Sunday! Ben, I can see right through you like there's nothing there.' She lay curled up in her sarong on the far side of the bed giving him her back. She did not move when he lay down beside her and he did not dare to touch her.

Ben was exhausted and quickly fell asleep, but he slept fitfully. All too soon he would have to face up to a hangover, an early morning bus ride to the island and the constant chill of Emma's silent censure.

6

The next morning after a restless few hours on the hard double bed, Ben and Emma slept through the alarm. Or, as Ben was forced to confess, he sat up and switched it off as soon as it rang and then dozed off again.

‘Ben, why the hell did you do that? It's eight o'clock and we've got to be at the bus in half an hour.'

‘Oh sod it! And you haven't packed our stuff yet.'

‘Me pack? While you're out all night looking at tits?'

Ben was horribly aware of his hangover, his mouth like a monkey's armpit, his eyes swollen and bleary. The last place in the world he wanted to be was in this grotty room at war with Emma.

Barefoot and in sarong, he padded down the narrow corridor to the showers, but he had forgotten his shower gel. By the time he had found it, the shower cubicles were all fully occupied and his bowels were now responding tumultuously to the night's rich food. He was going to have to do business with a squatter loo, just a nasty little hole in the floor. Hunker down, take aim, then, ‘Shit! No paper!'

‘Look, Ben,' protested Emma back in the room, ‘there's no time for breakfast. If we order something, they'll probably take ages getting it and we'll miss the bus. You were crazy staying out so late last night.'

They both made it down to the street by eight thirty but there was no minibus, no Chuck and Maca and the travel agents had not yet opened up.

‘Christ, I could do with a cup of tea,' grumbled Ben.

‘That's your problem. I'm not having you dumping me here with all the bags and the bus going without you.'

Emma was encouraged when a minibus drove up and stopped by the kerb, but the driver got out and disappeared, leaving the engine running in a growing fog of diesel fumes. After a few minutes he came back and switched it off.

‘You ask him Ben,' insisted Emma, so Ben went and asked.

‘Is this the minibus for Koh Samet?'

‘Bus go Ban Phe. You have boat ticket?'

‘Nobody said anything about boat tickets.'

The man shrugged silently and walked away. After ten minutes he reappeared.

‘Tickets,' he demanded abruptly.

‘Who's got them?' Ben asked Emma.

‘You have,' said Emma.

‘No I haven't. Surely you paid and put'em in your wallet.'

‘I didn't,' she snapped.

‘Dammit, you must have, Emm.' Emma was not enjoying this.

Other passengers were now arriving. They were all told to leave their packs on the pavement and board the minibus. The inside was hot and claustrophobic, the sticky plastic seats packed tightly together with little leg room. Soon after nine, Maca and Chuck showed up, Maca looking pale and crumpled.

‘Where've you two been?' asked Emma.

‘Last night? Sleeping,' said Maca innocently.

‘Running it a bit tight aren't you?'

‘Stay cool, Emm baby,' said Chuck.

After twenty minutes' sweaty confinement inside the parked minibus, a new driver got in and they at last moved off into the traffic.