Read Online Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute by Bua Boonmee - Free Book Online
Authors: Bua Boonmee
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dramatic and emotional reunion. But I was horrified to see him again and couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. The tension between us spread throughout the bar and the staff and customers alike looked on with baited breath to see how I would react. I finally found my voice, and in a cold, business-like tone, I asked him what he would like to drink, as though he were just another customer.
‘Bua, can we talk?’ he asked me in a low voice.
I responded curtly, telling him that I was too busy. His eyes widened in astonishment— this was clearly not the reaction he had been expecting. Chai, aware of the multitude of heads turned in his direction, made a hasty retreat. I could hear him cursing the day I was born as he slammed the door behind him.
He returned the following day, carrying a bouquet of orchids. He clearly thought that a few smiles, false promises, and pretty flowers would be enough to entice me back.
‘Please think about what our separation might do to our little boy,’ he pleaded. ‘Look at what happened with your parents. Please come back and we can try to be a family again. I’m a different person now. I love you.’
Deep down I knew that Chai hadn’t changed and that his sweet words would eventually wither and die like the flower he had just given me. But my desire to be reunited with my baby coloured my judgement, and for a few moments I almost believed him. But just then Chai’s gaze turned to my left, where my friend Somchai was seated, and his eyes glazed over in an instant.
‘You are having an affair with that bastard, you bitch,’ he shouted.
The bar fell deathly quiet. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring holes in me as they awaited my response. All the beatings and mental torture I had suffered behind closed doors at the hands of Chai suddenly paled in comparison to his coming to my place of work and embarrassing me like this. I looked down at the bouquet I held in my hand. I closed my fingers over it and felt its beautiful, delicate petals crumple up. When I looked back up at Chai, the anger had vanished from his face and been replaced by a look of panic. In that instant, he knew it was over.
I didn’t move from my seat, but quietly asked him to leave. He looked around, as if searching for someone to take his side, but the many pairs of eyes quickly turned the other way.
He slunk out of the bar, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed low, and I never saw him again.
Chapter 5
I never imagined that within weeks of my separation from Chai I would be offered a job entertaining high-class Japanese businessmen. It happened quite by accident.
The bar I was working in on Surawong Road was close to the red-light district called Soi Thaniya. This area caters to the nihonjin —the Japanese. These nihonjin pay a fortune for Thai hostesses to chat, drink, and sing karaoke with them. Sophisticated-looking women in evening gowns, short dresses, and kimonos call out ‘ Irashaimase ’ (meaning ‘Welcome’) to any passerby who looks Japanese. This place is otherwise known as Japantown and is considered a utopia by its many male customers. The bars were all on good terms with the police, so it was a safe area.
The bar I worked in was often visited by groups of nihonjin in search of fun. I never took any notice of them because I couldn’t speak their language; I found it too complex and altogether unfathomable. Personally, I prefer to mix with farang s, as I find them more fun and less formal.
When my boss called me aside one day to tell me that a Japanese businessman had expressed an interest in me, I was flabbergasted. I knew the man he was referring to because he had visited the bar several times that week. I had smiled at him and occasionally allowed him to chat to me; I understood very little of what he said, but I would nod my head in agreement at what I thought to be the appropriate junctures in conversation, or smile agreeably from time to time.
The bar was owned by
‘Bua, can we talk?’ he asked me in a low voice.
I responded curtly, telling him that I was too busy. His eyes widened in astonishment— this was clearly not the reaction he had been expecting. Chai, aware of the multitude of heads turned in his direction, made a hasty retreat. I could hear him cursing the day I was born as he slammed the door behind him.
He returned the following day, carrying a bouquet of orchids. He clearly thought that a few smiles, false promises, and pretty flowers would be enough to entice me back.
‘Please think about what our separation might do to our little boy,’ he pleaded. ‘Look at what happened with your parents. Please come back and we can try to be a family again. I’m a different person now. I love you.’
Deep down I knew that Chai hadn’t changed and that his sweet words would eventually wither and die like the flower he had just given me. But my desire to be reunited with my baby coloured my judgement, and for a few moments I almost believed him. But just then Chai’s gaze turned to my left, where my friend Somchai was seated, and his eyes glazed over in an instant.
‘You are having an affair with that bastard, you bitch,’ he shouted.
The bar fell deathly quiet. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring holes in me as they awaited my response. All the beatings and mental torture I had suffered behind closed doors at the hands of Chai suddenly paled in comparison to his coming to my place of work and embarrassing me like this. I looked down at the bouquet I held in my hand. I closed my fingers over it and felt its beautiful, delicate petals crumple up. When I looked back up at Chai, the anger had vanished from his face and been replaced by a look of panic. In that instant, he knew it was over.
I didn’t move from my seat, but quietly asked him to leave. He looked around, as if searching for someone to take his side, but the many pairs of eyes quickly turned the other way.
He slunk out of the bar, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed low, and I never saw him again.
Chapter 5
I never imagined that within weeks of my separation from Chai I would be offered a job entertaining high-class Japanese businessmen. It happened quite by accident.
The bar I was working in on Surawong Road was close to the red-light district called Soi Thaniya. This area caters to the nihonjin —the Japanese. These nihonjin pay a fortune for Thai hostesses to chat, drink, and sing karaoke with them. Sophisticated-looking women in evening gowns, short dresses, and kimonos call out ‘ Irashaimase ’ (meaning ‘Welcome’) to any passerby who looks Japanese. This place is otherwise known as Japantown and is considered a utopia by its many male customers. The bars were all on good terms with the police, so it was a safe area.
The bar I worked in was often visited by groups of nihonjin in search of fun. I never took any notice of them because I couldn’t speak their language; I found it too complex and altogether unfathomable. Personally, I prefer to mix with farang s, as I find them more fun and less formal.
When my boss called me aside one day to tell me that a Japanese businessman had expressed an interest in me, I was flabbergasted. I knew the man he was referring to because he had visited the bar several times that week. I had smiled at him and occasionally allowed him to chat to me; I understood very little of what he said, but I would nod my head in agreement at what I thought to be the appropriate junctures in conversation, or smile agreeably from time to time.
The bar was owned by
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