Stan stood at the window, gently rocking on his heels, hands on
hips, admiring the penthouse view from their Royal Suite at the Grand
President. "Well, Sooz, here we are in Bangkok, the sex and shopping
capital of the world. Happy?"
Susan grimaced and flapped her bag on the bed, "For shit's sake,
Stan, we just checked in. What's with the attitude already? Neither one
of us is on the waiting list for sainthood, y'know."
"Yeah, I know. What was your nickname back in Nam? L.A. Susie, as I
recall. L.A. as in Legs Akimbo. Your legs were spread out like a
Thanksgiving turkey with its drumsticks unstrung. But Hot Damn Viet
Nam, you sure took care of old Pete and me. What a sandwich we made!
Dagwood Bumstead would'a been proud. Remember that old Jimmy Durante
song Pete used to sing all the time?: "There's Two Sides to Every
Girl." Truer words were never spoken, at least not in your case, huhn,
Sooz?"
The edge in Stan's voice framed the gentle clink of ice meeting
glass as Susan poured some of Ireland's finest into a tumbler. Ah, yes,
relief is on its way, she swizzled.
Susan inhaled her drink; breathed deep the gathering gloom; exhaled
slowly; squared her shoulders; and flirted back: "Oh, you old fashioned
boy, you. Those were the good old days, all right, but even nostalgia
just isn't what it used to be."
A frosty truce reigned as Stan poured himself a tumbler of Irish
relief, fired up a Monte Cristo #2, and leaned against the television,
contemplating Susan's profile in the doorway to the bedroom.
Stan puffed, Susan huffed, smoke spiraled to the ceiling. It was a
classic Kodak moment, but nothing developed.
"AAACCKKKKK-HAAA-HAAA-HAAAA! Pays to buy the best!" Stan coughed as
he parked his cigar on the edge of the kitchen sink and opened the
fridge. There was a lot of Irish relief in the fridge, enough for a
whole pitcher. A relief pitcher, Stan called it. Susan was mildly
amused by the baseball reference, grinned enough to make her cheeks
crease, and strode confidently to the plate.
"So, Stan, where is this famous Patpong you've been talking about
since 1969? Can we walk there from here?"
"No, Sooz, we can't walk from here. Besides, it might not even be
there anymore. That was way back when."
"Don't give me that shit, Stan, I know you got all the latest dope
from that Internet chat site of yours, what's it called? Traveling Male
Scumbag?"
"Slut."
"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?"
"It's The Traveling Male Slut, Sooz, not Scumbag, and you know damn
well it is. Besides, it's just entertainment and travel information.
That's how we got a 40\\% discount on our rooms here, so quitcha'
bitchin'. "
"Yeah, right. And so where were you last night in Singapore? I'll
bet you were skipping through the Four Floors Of Whores like Tiny Tim
in the Tulips."
Stan's eyeballs twitched at the Tiny Tim reference. Tiny got married
on the Carson show the same night he shipped out for Nam. That night
was a turning point in many lives, he concluded, sinking slowly into a
sand trap of profundity.
"Suit yourself, Sooz. You were shopping; I was trying to earn some
dough to pay for your habit. Ah, hell, let's declare peace with honor
and get something to eat."
"Ok, Stan, but don't patronize me anymore."
"Fine. And for the record I haven't patronized you in ages."
"Nice quip, but that's part of our problem. A little commerce now
and then would work wonders for our relationship, Stan. That's why we
came here in the first place, if you will remember."
"We'll think about it."
"Again with the royal WE. Just you and Mr. Happy, eh?"
"You got that right."
"I really don't care what you're up to on the side, Stan, just don't
bring anything home that we can't get rid of."
"Roger Will-Ko, Nurse Susan. Over and out the door we go."
================
The happy couple headed out for dinner at the famous Cabbages and
Condoms restaurant. It was only a short few minutes walk from the Grand
President, but in Bangkok, even a short walk can be a long journey.
Stan and Susan snaked between the shophouse fronts and the street
vendors, slithering through the Bangkok street clamor in silence.
"Suit, meestah? Shirts made here, meestah." "Taxi? Massage?" "Taxi?
Massage?"
Stan was right, Susan thought. It is the sex and shopping capital of
the world. The Great Bizarre Bazaar. Final destination of the
third-shifters of the world, seeking their place on top of the heap,
and finding themselves slogging through the sweat and heat of some
mosquito encrusted backwash on the edge of nowhere in the Big Weird.
Lord almighty, the bullshit really floats high on a rising tide of
Irish relief! I was so hoping to revive Stan's passion for me, but now
I'm not so sure. Thirty years of clean Christian living may be more
than any mere mortal can overcome. What a waste! If only we could start
over again!
It's not much, but it could be home, Stan mused. I could spend a lot
of years bouncing from one bar girl to another like a pinball machine
on permanent tilt. It's a thought. It would mean joining this
ridiculous human cartoon carnival and trudging the squishy road of
happy horseshit, but hey, it's better than a stick in the eye. Most of
these guys look like the remains of my buddies from Nam, so maybe I'll
find some old friends here. Where is that friggin' restaurant
anyway?
Noi glanced sideways as she passed them in front of the noodle
vendor. Yeah, typical farang couple, she thought as she gave her gold
necklace a quick tug and stroked her gold bracelet. One walking ATM
machine. One sad old woman with no gold. My life much better.
============
"Sawadee kaaaa" said Fa the welcome girl, as she made a little
pyramid with her hands, the traditional wai.
"Table for two, please, indoors."
"This way pwes."
Stan and Susan sat opposite each other, soaking up the air
conditioning. Stan immersed himself in the Bangkok Post, while Susan
sized up the other patrons.
Ah, so here we are at the famous Cabbages and Condoms, thought
Susan. I wonder if there's a reason I'm sitting facing the Vasectomy
Bar? There's a gaggle of middle-aged men like Stan gabbing about visa
runs to Cambodia and vacationing at Svay Pak, whatever that is. If he
weren't with me, Stan would fit in with those guys. And those giggling
American college girls over there think they are taking a walk on the
wild side by just being here. God, was I ever that simple? This is a
charity enterprise and the profits go to support family planning in the
countryside, for God's sake. And that group, well, a couple of
foreigners treating a local college professor to an expensive meal that
would cost a week's wages for a Thai office worker. Maybe this is the
way it will always be for Stan and me. He reads, I ponder, and never
the twain shall meet. Nothing else will meet either, I'm afraid.
"Hey Sooz, listen to this," Stan exploded. 'There's a new act at
King's II in Patpong. This one will make the record books. It's a
virility rite. An old farang is teased into an upright position by two
bar girls using feathers, then if the patrons toss enough baht onstage,
they ride him for a while. Reports are that women are invited to
participate from the audience, but there never are any women in the
audience, so no takers so far. It's also rumored that this old farang
stands tall in the saddle.'
"What are you reading? And what is a farang?"
"This is Trink's nightlife column in the Bangkok Post. This guy's
been here forever. Is this what you wanted to see? There are two warm
up acts featuring cigarettes and various tropical fruits. Nothing here
about cigars, I see. Maybe we could find the cigar act in one of the
Clinton Plaza bars. And farang is Thai for foreigner."
"OK, Stan, King's II it is." But I'm having a hard time remembering
what I was thinking when I insisted upon this trip, she thought. What a
stupid mistake. It's like rubbing salt in a wound. Ah well, at least
this seafood soup is wonderful, if a bit spicy.
I don't know, man, this is really stupid, Stan mused. What are we
doing here after all these years? We used to have a great life
together, but then she was "born again" into that Christian bullshit
and that was the end of our marriage. I shoulda left her 25 years ago.
What a stupid waste. Stan's Law of Spirituality: When the born again
assholes walk in the front door, cut your losses and run for the
hills.
Yeah, another sad farang couple, thought Fa. I just waitress, but I
happy. My life better.
===================
"Stan, when is the main act? I've had it with these fruits and nuts.
AND I'm wondering what they do with all that food after, well,
after?.."
"Sooz, the girls take it home with them. It's part of their wages.
I'll bet you never thought cigarettes and bananas were the wages of
sin, did you? HAR HAR. Tell that one to your Born Again jerk-offs back
home."
"Stan, please don't talk about my Christian brothers and sisters
that way. Many of them are very decent people, and besides, you're
drunk."
"I'm not drunk, I'm just having a good time. Ahhhh, now for the main
event."
The lights went down as the bar girls rolled a small bed onto the
stage. A slender rather tallish man with long gray hair lay still on
the bed, apparently naked, facing the ceiling. A momentary hush came
over the room, then fell away as the techno-slut music revved up. Two
bar girls dressed as Elizabethan wood nymphs danced around the bed
waving Turkey feather dusters in circles over their heads and mugging
salaciously at the audience. The music grew in intensity and speed. The
bar girls dusted the man's crotch, looking for signs of life. The
audience shifted and squirmed, hoping for the best. The mamasan and
papasan sweated and twitched, fearing for the worst. It was only the
third night of the act, and with this huge crowd pumping in
anticipation, failure could be ugly.
Two men sat down at the little reserved table next to Stan and
Susan.
"Just in time for the main event, eh? You guys must be big shots
around here to have a reserved table. I'm Stan from Miami and this is
my wife Susan."
"Welcome to Bangkok, Stan and Susan. I'm Vincent Calvino; my friends
call me Vinee. And this is Chistopher Moore."
The crowded gently sucked wind as the actor's member began to rise
amid the swirling feathers and dust and music and smoke and sweat and
heat and all the little microbes out to get you in a place like
that.
Sweet memories are made of such things, thought Susan. It's almost
like being back in Nam. China Beach. Those were the days.
Stan wanted to watch but was embarrassed, so he tried to strike up a
conversation with the two neighbors.
"So guys, what are you doing here? Looks like you might be part of
the permanent scenery."
"Well, in a way we are," replied Calvino. "I'm a fictional private
detective, and Chistopher here is my author."
Stan drew back like a deer caught in the headlights of an errant
school bus, shook it off, and horse-laughed over the din, "You're one
for the books, fella! Fictional private eye out on the town with his
author: Fucking A, man, now I've heard'em all."
"Oh, but he's telling the truth, Stan. We just wanted to let you
know that all things are possible in the Big Weird. Now look up on
stage."
Stan turned to look just in time.
The actor was at full mast by now and slowly gathered himself up to
a sitting position while the wood nymphs executed clumsy lateral
arabesques back and forth across the small stage.
Susan shrieked as the man's face came into full view. "Holy Shit!"
cried Stan, "It's Pete! What the fuck is going on?.?"
"Well, if it ain't Stan and Susan! I knew you'd show up sooner or
later," Pete called out over the noise. "Let's blow this joint!"
Stan shot a glance at the next table, but Vinee and Christopher were
gone. Just the little cup with 500 baht and two untouched Mekongs
remained.
The joint was in chaos. Susan ran onto the stage, embracing Pete and
wrapping a towel around him. Pete picked her up in his arms and darted
for the door, while Stan yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" and tossed a
fistful of 1000 baht notes into the air. The bar girls, mamasan,
papasan, security guards, and most of the audience dove for the money
like Greg Lugainis off the high board.
Stan and Pete muscled their way out through the darkness using Susan
as a battering ram. Stan grabbed a taxi and they all poured in. "Grand
President!" Stan barked, and off they sped.
=====================
The next morning the three of them awoke in bed, somewhat the worse
for wear, but with smiles all around.
"So, Pete, you grinning S.O.B., is this why they call it the Land of
Smiles," Stan joked. Susan yawned, stretched, shivered a little, and
giggled like a school girl. "Yeah, Pete, what the hell have you been
doing here all these years? We thought you died long ago," she
asked.
Pete smiled. "I had to disappear. Top Security, ya know. And then
the government abandoned me. So I did what I had to do to survive. I
couldn't go back to the States. There were too many CIA types
threatening to kill me if I surfaced. But now they're all retired or
dead or in jail, so I decided to rise from the dead myself, so to
speak."
Stan looked puzzled. "Yeah, OK, but why in that club?"
"Hey, it's a job. Besides, it brought us back together didn't
it?"
"Yeah, but?."
"Stan, this is Thailand. It's not healthy to ask questions here.
Let's just enjoy what we've got. We're all going home now. The detour
is over. Smiling?"
Susan and Stan both grinned. "Hey Pete, sing it for us will ya?"
asked Susan.
"You mean??"
"Yeah, Pete, are there really still two sides to every girl?"
They all grinned and broke into song.
