Bar Girl (11 page)

‘What’s your name?’ the young man asked her.

‘Bee,’ she said. The lie came easily.

‘I’m Tad and he’s Song. He doesn’t talk much but he’s a good driver,’ Tad informed her.

Siswan glanced at the driver. Dark brown skin, black hair, big hands. A hard looking man who just stared at the road ahead of him.

‘So, Bee. What are you doing out here all alone?’ Tad asked her.

She was wary. The question could be just curiosity but it could also hide a threat. All alone. She tried to give a confident air. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone older.

‘I’ve been visiting my Uncle. Now I’m heading home,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘I cut it in the fields. Harvesting. You know.’

‘Looks like a bad cut. Many stitches?’ Tad asked.

She didn’t know what he meant. She knew about stitches though. She’d practised with her mother. Sewing little patterns onto small squares of cloth. They sold well in the tourist towns, her mother had told her. Had they stitched her arm? Could they do that? She guessed at the number needed to sew back the cut she had seen in her arm.

‘Seventeen. I think,’ she said.

‘Wow. That’s a lot! What do you think, Song?’

Song didn’t say anything. Just kept driving. The only sign that he had even heard the question was the slight raising of one side of his mouth. As though to say he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

The rest of the day was spent in the cab of the truck. When it pulled in to refuel, Siswan used the service station to wash. Other than that, the three of them just sat and watched the road unroll ahead of them. She and Song didn’t say much but Tad kept up a flow of conversation regardless. He was a mine of information. Some useful, some useless.

He told her about the big town on the coast. The one the farangs visited to spend their money.

‘They come from all over the world, Bee,’ he told her. ‘They have lots of money and spend it on beer and women.’

‘How do they spend it on women?’ Siswan asked.

‘They give the girls money to spend time with them. The girls go with them. Spend two weeks with them sometimes. Earn a lot of money. My girlfriend got one farang to give her enough to buy me a motorbike,’ Tad smiled at the thought.

Siswan didn’t ask anymore. The thought of Bak and his motorbike, the way he had earned it, crept into her mind. She tried to shut it out but the memories were too fresh. Too easily remembered.

‘She says she’s going to earn enough for us to buy a house,’ Tad continued. ‘She’s a good girl. Takes good care of me.’

Song snorted. They both looked at him and, for the first time, he spoke.

‘A good girl? Sleeping with farangs for money?’ he laughed. A short laugh that summed up his feelings towards Tad and his girlfriend.

‘You won’t be laughing when it happens,’ Tad said. ‘You’ll see.’

Song didn’t say anything else and neither did Tad for a while. The three of them watched the road, each lost in their own thoughts.

For Siswan, the road seemed like her future. It stretched out before her as far as she could see. She didn’t know where it was taking her and, for the moment at least, she didn’t much care. The road lay before her. She was travelling along it. That was good enough for now.

Finally, after almost twelve hours travelling, they approached the outskirts of a big town. The traffic built up once more and Song had to sound the horn several times as he tried to jockey for position amongst the cars, motorbikes and other trucks.

Tad pointed out several farangs walking along the pavements as they drove past.

‘There’s one!’ He pointed, excitedly. ‘And another.’

Siswan got a good look at the white skinned foreigners. A man and a woman were bartering with a street trader as the truck slowly rolled by. Through the open window she could make out the strange language they were using.

‘That’s English, Bee,’ Tad explained. ‘All the farangs speak English. Even if they don’t come from England. English is the most important language in the world.’

‘Do you speak it, then?’ Siswan asked him.

‘No. What do I want to speak it for?’ he asked, as a reply.

Song snorted once more. A derisory sound that told them what he thought of the idea of speaking the English language.

Siswan stared at the farangs. According to Tad they were rich. According to Tad they were also stupid and gave their money to girls. All the girls had to do was to pretend to love them.

‘But how can you pretend love?’ Siswan asked.

‘My girlfriend, Bom, just tells them she loves them. They believe her,’ Tad answered.

After passing through the busy streets, Song eventually pulled in to a small opening that led into a builders yard. Bringing the truck to a stop, he opened the door and jumped down from the cab. Tad and Siswan followed.

‘That’s it, Bee,’ Tad told her. ‘This is as far as we go.’

‘Thank you for the lift,’ Siswan told him.

‘Where are you going now?’ Tad asked.

‘Oh, I can walk from here. It’s only a few more streets,’ she said.

‘Maybe we’ll see you around then,’ Tad said, with a smile and a wave. Siswan looked around the small yard as Tad began unlocking the rear doors of the truck. There were building materials piled high in every corner. A small office stood to one side and, through a side window, she could see Song showing some paperwork to a girl sat inside. There was nothing else for her to do but to stroll back out the way they had entered. She shrugged her bundle over her shoulder and walked towards the small gateway they had driven through.

‘Wait.’ The call came just as she was about to leave the yard.

She turned to see Song walking purposefully towards her. His stocky frame moved in a crisp, mechanical way, as he approached. Like someone marching rather than walking. He stopped in front of her and looked into her eyes. For a moment he didn’t speak. Just looked at her. When, finally, he spoke she was shocked. For almost twelve hours he hadn’t said more than a few words but he’d obviously been listening.

‘I don’t know who you are or where you’re from,’ he said. ‘But I know you’re running away from something.’

Before she could answer he continued.

‘I don’t want to know anything. I know enough. But there are things you need to know.’

She stopped thinking about what to say next. She opened her mind to what he had to say. For some reason, her mind told her, what Song was about to tell her would be important.

‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ Song said, with a nod towards Tad. ‘He’s young and doesn’t know much. His girlfriend is stupid as well.’ It was the most she had heard him speak. He continued, ‘The farang do have money, but they aren’t stupid. If you work with them be careful. We hate to lose face and get angry when it happens. The farang are the same. They take longer to find their anger but when they do, they are much worse than us. They are bigger and stronger as well. If you work with them learn to understand them first. Learn their ways. You are young, I can tell, but your youth gives you more time. If you want to make money, do it slowly.’

He stopped speaking. Looked into her eyes again. Nodded to himself and began to turn away. He stopped, turned back to her.

‘There’s a house three streets down that will help you. It is not a nice place but they have beds and food.’ He pointed in the direction she should take. ‘In two or three weeks you will need to get those stitches out of your arm. You’ll need to wash and clean the bandage every day.’ He seemed to have finished.

‘Why do you help?’ Siswan couldn’t prevent the words spilling from her lips.

She’d decided to keep quiet. To tell him nothing. The words just spilled out of their own accord.

‘I had a daughter once.’ He turned and marched back to help Tad offload the truck. He didn’t look back.

Siswan walked out of the yard and into the street. She took the directions Song had given her. The crowds thronged around her. A farang, a big white man wearing shorts that were too short, barged into her. Said something to her. Smiled. Held his hands open as though to show no ill feeling. She smiled back at him and he nodded and moved around her. Her first contact with a farang.

She walked down the busy pavement with Song’s words echoing in her mind. Learn their ways, he had said. Learn the ways of the farang.

‘Okay, Miss Siswan. I’ll tell her.’ Apple gave a wai and went to help the other girls get the bar ready.

Siswan looked about the place. It was beginning to look good. They needed to replace some of the old bar stools but otherwise, it wasn’t looking too bad. She saw Mike come through the main doors and went over to talk to him. She had a few ideas she wanted to ask him about.

‘No way!’ Mike retorted after she had explained. ‘That’ll cost a fortune!’

‘No it won’t, Mike. You know it won’t. Why are you against it?’ she asked, calmly.

‘I just am, that’s all. The girls already have a day off each week. No one gives the girls two days!’ His voice sounded almost petulant.

‘Yes. We’d be the first,’ she explained. ‘The girls will have more time to enjoy themselves and still get a good rest.’

‘But I pay them to work,’ Mike stated.

She noticed the word ‘I’ and not the ‘we’ he had been using up until then. She knew now why he was so against the idea. She could understand him. He’d worked for so long on his own, making his own decisions, that now he felt a little lost. As though the carpet was being pulled out from under his feet. She had taken over. Had put in place all her ideas. Worst of all, those ideas were working. The bar was making a fortune. She guessed he must be feeling left out. Perhaps a little annoyed that he hadn’t been able to do it without her help.

‘Okay, Mike. Perhaps it is a stupid idea,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe the girls don’t look tired. Maybe they won’t get bored.’

‘Oh, I know what you’re saying, Siswan. Yes, the girls could do with an extra day, I agree. But it will be expensive, that’s all I’m saying.’ He was already giving in.

She looked at his face. He didn’t look back. Just stared ahead of him. He needed something. Something to convince him that everything was all right. He needed placating. She put her hand on his arm. Pressed slightly so that she knew he felt her touch. He was like a little boy. Even at Mike’s age, men were still like little boys. Afraid. Alone. Frightened of things they didn’t understand.

‘I like you, Mike,’ she said to him.

His eyes turned to meet hers. She continued to look. Didn’t turn away. She concentrated on him. Tried to make him feel her honesty.

‘There are lots of bars struggling out there.’ She nodded towards the street. ‘I chose this one because of you.’

‘Because I’m a soft touch, you mean.’ His voice was quieter but no less petulant.

‘No. Because you are kind, Mike,’ she told him. ‘You behave like a gentleman. Even when the girls were ripping you off, you behaved like a gentleman.’

‘That’s just because I was too soft to do anything about it.’ He was coming around. Flattered by her compliment.

‘Mike. You don’t swear. You don’t try to touch the girls. You are the last of a dying breed. A true gentleman.’ She smiled.

‘I’ll agree with the dying bit.’ He smiled back. Couldn’t stop himself. ‘But I’m no gentleman, Siswan. I run what amounts to a brothel. I make money from girls selling themselves to strangers.’

‘You don’t force them to do it,’ Siswan said.

‘Be that as it may, I’m still giving them a place to work. An outlet from which they can operate. I’m no better than a pimp really.’ He spoke quietly now. As though he had a conscience. Felt guilty.

‘That sort of thing happens all over the world, Mike. How many women are used to portray sex for a product that has nothing to do with sex?’ she asked.

‘Just watch the television commercials, Mike. Look at the billboards, the magazines. Pimps are everywhere. Even women are pimping off the bodies of other women.’

‘It doesn’t make it right, Siswan,’ he said.