by Jay J Carr
"We know who is good man with good heart."
"Anything else you would like to share?" Sak did not respond and stared back at him.
"Right then." Tod looked straight into the camera, "And there you have it from Sak, Mama-san at 'Boys World', who was able to give us some perspective and confirmation that Barry Cunningham visited a gay go-go bar here in Bangkok."
Hurtle did the customary count out and then went over to Sak and loudly said, "Thank you Sak, we really appreciate your participation in this. Our viewers will be pleased." With that he handed over an envelope in full view of all.
Tod felt completely flustered and angrily threw his notes into the backpack he was using. Hurtle looked over his shoulder and this time there was no wink.
"We are going to film inside the bar now," he said to the cameraman. "Tod it may be best if you go back to the hotel, as these are direct shots."
Tod was not sure if this was a rebuttal of how he had reacted in the interview or if it was a time out. "No, I will stay until the end," he replied stubbornly, and as an afterthought, "need to understand all angles of this story."
The bar was dark and dingy and once the lights were switched on, it looked like any cabaret venue. Padded seats lined the walls and in the middle was a stage, a bar on the one side of the wall, and that was it. He could only imagine this full of naked men on a stage and some old randy pedophiles sitting in the seats drooling.
The shots were quick as Sak walked the cameraman through the venue with Hurtle in tow. They were soon deposited outside and he felt dizzy and nauseous. He needed to lie down before they came back so that he could get his energy and focus back.
Hurtle was on his phone immediately. “We need to stay on top of things. It is going to be one of those that we might need to break and quick. I need everyone to be on high alert for quick edits.”
They were directed with that finger once more towards the top of the alley and then into a taxi. Hurtle, the cameraman and himself were squashed in with the equipment and were on their way back to the hotel. The cameraman on cue gave directions of where they needed to go while Hurtle continued to blab. Thank goodness its over Tod thought.
Hurtle ended the call and sighed out deeply. “Bloody staff.”
"I don't trust him," Tod said.
"Who cares, Matey," Hurtle returned, too quickly for comfort.
"There is just something about him," Tod struggled for words, "um, he's ..."
"Gay," Hurtle laughed back. "A man trying to act like a woman and getting it horribly wrong?”
"I didn’t realize that I was that homophobic," He said although unconvincingly.
"The story isn't odd. He mapped out what happens. He confirmed that Cunningham was in the bar and paid to take a ‘boy’. That proves he paid for sex. End of story."
"What about that shit about being a good guy?"
"We can edit it out. It didn't make sense anyway."
"But that's just it ..."
"Listen Matey, we did some checks about the place. And you know its hearsay. You could say that there is no way that people can remember a face, or a person, especially if there are hundreds of people going through a place a day. The point is we don't care. We don't give a fuck. The bottom line is that there are 'sources' and they are either 'reliable' or 'not', either way we don't care as nowadays no one spends time digging, authenticating ensuring that the news is correct. And for fuck's sake we are not CNN, so nobody gives a shit."
Tod chose not to reply and simply sat quietly at the back, mulling over what Hurtle had said.
When Hurtle spoke again, his tone had changed and he was not as cocky as before, "Matey, the man is a brothel madam keeping the customers happy. We are not going to get a clean story."
Tod did not reply again but let the silence do the communicating. There were no more interjections after this and by the time they arrived at the hotel he quickly go out of the cab and climbed the stairs to his room so he didn't have to share the elevator.
That Place-
6.
The sun has set and the room is in darkness. He has been staring into the distance for what feels an eternity.
Another hour passes and he continues to stare but he can’t remember what he is thinking about anymore. He notices the river only because it is one of the only things not illuminated and the silence of the room punctuated only now and then by blasts of air from the air-conditioner.
When he gets up it is his body in charge and not his mind. He watches as he collects his wallet, closes the safe in the room and descends in the elevator. Before he knows it the blast of warm air hits him which brings him back into the real world as he exits the hotel. He decides he will go and have a coffee at Starbucks first and then go. However, he walks straight past Starbucks, he walks with a determination that he does not realize he has. He is now standing directly across from the entrance to the Soi and it is now or never.
Looking left and right, he crosses the road.
The experience now compared to the experience earlier in the day, do not even remotely resemble each other. Where there was silence and drabness before, there is music pumping out of every space, with each bar competing with the next, a barrage of flashing lights, it’s a Vegas style sensory challenge. As he sets foot into the Soi, he is accosted by at least ten people vying for his patronage.
“Sex show …”
“Good boy …”
“Nice drink …”
“Ladyboy …”
“Big cock show …”
His instinct is to turn back and run. He wanted this experience to be subtle and discreet. He wanted to quietly enter a bar while no one watched him go in. He thought that it would be a little busier not like this. So many people are looking at him. He does not want to look like a newbie so he heads for the bar that he has seen on the web with the best show. He is greeted at the door by a Mama-san, who escorts him up the stairs and into the bar.
“Welcome,” he says, while gently leading him inside.
It is everything he is expecting and not. He is led to a seat at the back of the bar.
“Drink?” he is asked.
“Beer.”
For the first time he breathes. He is in a bar! On the stage in front of him are about 100 ‘boys’. The only clothing they wear is underwear. He watches as they slowly circulate around so that you are able to have a good look. Twinks to semi-buffed, to muscle deluxe, the selection of gorgeous ‘boys’ astounds even him. Surely he had died and gone to heaven?
The bar is full, every seat is almost taken and there are a mix of people inside – Asians and Caucasians. He feels he is the youngest inside and there are many older or elderly men in attendance.
While he is looking around a ‘boy’ walks up to the vacant chair next to him and sits down. He is not sure what to do; the ‘boy’ is only wearing underwear and is sitting next to him.
“Hello, Mister,” the ‘boy’ starts.
“Hi,” he says, embarrassed.
“You want fun? I give you massage and fun.”
He smiles and does not say anything back. The ‘boy’ is not his type and when there is so much choice on offer it’s difficult to focus on anything else. For a moment he thinks to the day before, the rejection. Here he was doing it too. He remembers why he is here, it is because he doesn’t want to feel rejected and it is a transaction, one in which both parties get something out of it. He doesn’t want to offend but the ‘boy’ sits next to him.
The ‘boy’ has taken his hand and is gently massaging it. The Mama-san returns with his beer and acts all surprised at what he finds.
“Busy, busy,” he clucks.
“No,” he says in defense.
“I like, I like. You busy man.” He then moves their faces together forcibly, “So cute.”
He feels irritated by the move but also gets the sinking feeling that he is being coerced into something he does not want. So it’s not really a choice, more like a pairing.
“Buy drink.
Manners!” the Mama-san orders.
“Sure,” he says, anything to get the attention away from himself.
The ‘boy’ snuggles in and places his head on his shoulder while continuing to gently stroke his arm. He sits and watches the stage trying to look uninterested.
When the Mama-san returns with the ‘boys’ drink, he places himself on the other empty chair.
“Good boy,” he says. “He make you happy.”
Again he smiles. Curiosity gets the better of him and he asks, “How does it work?”
It is the magic cue that opens the door, which the Mama-san has been waiting for.
“You pay ‘off fee’ for boy,” he then points at the ‘boy’ attached to him. “Then you and boy have fun. Pay boy what you like …” but then rehearsed to perfection, “Must pay boy well.”
There is no judgment in his eye for this information. It is shared as the instructions on how to use a new washing machine. The uncomfortable feeling is still hovering over him.
“You need fun,” the Mama-san says, gently reassuring. Clearly he looks like a first timer in need of gentle nudging.
“Show start soon. Good show.”
He is relieved, as this will give him time to think. The lights dim and the ‘boys’ leave the stage.
He enjoys the dancing of the performers and the opportunity to laugh at the drag queens who prance and make fun of the audience. There are also the sex parts of the show. Intercourse with two men ten meters from his seat. One man being turned a full 360 degrees while he is fucked.
This is followed by fooling around of the ‘boys’ in between the sex acts. During the show his hand is locked into another’s and no matter how he tries to free himself, it always gets drawn back.
When the show finishes he has made a decision. He will not be coerced and feel obligated into going with someone. He will try and speak privately to the Mama-san about this. The Mama-san, routinely comes back at the end of the show and once again is cooing and clucking about the ‘boy’.
“You have good time?”
This is interjected with the ‘boy’ saying the same.
“I make you happy Mister.”
He pulls out his money and he gives the ‘boy’ a large tip and says, “Not tonight but thank you.”
The ‘boy’ looks disappointed but stands up, raises his hands in greeting and retreats back into the shadows.
The Mama-san, thinking that he is leaving raises his hands in greeting and he stands up. While they are walking to the exit he sees a ‘boy’ sitting at the back of the bar. He is so handsome. He must be in his twenties, with a light complexion, piercing brown eyes and a smooth body. Twink heaven. That is the kind of guy he would have liked to meet. The Mama-san continues to walk. He gently leans over and says, “I want number 57.” When he looks back the ‘boy’ is gone. He looks around but can’t see him anymore. Another person must have requested him. He is so disappointed.
The Mama-san smiles back and seeing that he is upset says, “What make you happy. I go find for you.” He then motions for him to join him in his quest.
The ‘boys’ are sitting all over the bar, waiting for their turn to go onto the stage. The Mama-san weaves through the customers. He looks and spots the ‘boy’ waiting behind a curtain. A conversation quickly ensues and the ‘boy’ raises his hands in greeting before disappearing again.
“Good choice, Mister,” the Mama-san says. “Boy go change.”
He smiles and waits while the Mama-san quickly writes out a bill and calculates the cost.
He sees the total and pays it without any exchange in conversation.
“Is there anywhere close by where we can go? It’s so that I don’t have to go to my hotel which is far away?”
“Of course, Mister. Close by cheap hotel. Down road. I tell boy take you there.”
Everything is convenient, maybe too convenient.
With that the ‘boy’ arrives and they leave the bar together.
“My name Joe,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Joe. My name is Barry.”
A shy smile. “Nice meet you. I take you hotel.”
With the ‘boy’ on his arm there is no interference from the touts. And as they make their way further and further back into the Soi the crowds dissipate. The hotel is a two-minute walk from the bar.
The ‘boy’ shows him inside and says to the receptionist, “Short stay.”
They both look at him and he feels really awkward.
“Pay hotel,” the ‘boy’ says.
He fumbles for his money and drops notes all over the counter. The receptionist sorts through and takes some notes and hands over the keys.
Within a minute they are in the room together. In five minutes he has gone from disappointment to immense anxiety, to immense excitement and then back to anxiety again.
“I go shower,” the ‘boy’ mumbles.
“Right,” he says not sure how to respond. Does he also go and shower? Do they shower one after the other?
While the ‘boy’ is showering, he has time to reflect for the first time. There is a desirable person in the room next door. He is about to pay for sex. Why doesn’t he feel guilty?
New Jersey-
7.
It is inevitable … as if he can define what inevitability is. He needs to hear the turn of the lock and the door opening. As the time drags on he knows that his partner should be coming home soon. Desperation has taken hold of him and he needs to talk to someone or for someone to talk to him. He has used the tracking software on his phone to determine his whereabouts. According to the map he is a quarter of a mile away. He waits impatiently, pacing the passageway. His bewildered dogs stare at him.
The last part of the drive doesn’t usually take longer than a minute, but after five minutes he can see that the pin on the map is in the same position. He doesn’t know why. After a further five minutes the pin’s movement is only marginal. Fifteen minutes later and he hears the electronic gate open followed by flashes and various people shouting. Thankfully, he hears the gate close.
The keys turn in the lock, the familiar sound he is used to. He has hidden in the passageway so that no one can see him as his partner comes through the door. The dogs have gone crazy barking and jumping up to greet him. He responds by touching each one before closing the door behind him.
“Hello,” he hears himself say.
“Hi,” he hears back. It is not what he is expecting to hear. “I can’t believe these fucking people that have blocked the road! I wasn’t able to get through. There is a police block on the road and a diversion round the community park. I had to convince the one officer that I lived here. What the fuck.”
“It’s a bit crazy out there.”
“That is an understatement.” Followed by, “Why did you switch your phone off?”
“It wouldn’t stop ringing.”
“I see.” Some judgment is left in the air.
He wants to break the silence and looking once more at him, says. “Can I make you some coffee? It will be good after work and the flight home.”
“Yes, that would be good.”
He walks into the kitchen and notes how the act of making coffee in the house is always the same. Filling up the coffee pot with water, pouring it into the machine, opening the cupboard door and taking out the tin of ground coffee, two coffee spoons later (they are slightly bigger than a teaspoon), and then the machine is switched on.
During the coffee making there is silence and he sits down at the kitchen table and looks at his partner.
“I am in total shock. All my colleagues at the Washington office were swarming around me, congratulating me, as if I had one the bloody prize. Even Geoff said I should come home and celebrate with you. I had too much work to do and I didn’t want to have to go back again this month, so I stayed. Might as well have though as couldn’t get stuff done after that.”
“Right.”
Silence then filled the room. “What about you?”
/> “I guess I am in shock too … Don’t really know what to think or say – have been wandering around like a zombie and every now and then peeking out of the window at the insanity outside.”
“I didn’t hear your acceptance speech. What did you say to the press?”
“I haven’t said anything, too scared to leave the house.”
“Why haven’t you made a statement? The reason there is all that fucking chaos out there is because they are waiting to hear from you! Bloody hell! Don’t be so idiotic and say something. Once they have your official statement or something like that, and only then, will they leave us alone!”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You won the bloody prize. I am sure you can say thank you to start with.”
“I guess so.”
“Just do it!”
“I will,” he hears himself say, but he doesn’t believe it.
The coffee is ready and so he pours it carefully into the mugs, goes to the refrigerator to get the cream and lastly throws in the sugar. He stirs twenty times in each cup, even though this irritates his partner. He can’t help it, it’s a habit. Once again he is sitting at the table joined by one of his poodles that has jumped on his lap and snuggled in.
“Thanks.”
“You are welcome.”
“Man oh man.”
He doesn’t respond this time and just stares blankly ahead. There is nothing he can say; there is no way to articulate his thoughts.
“I should have congratulated you, sorry.”
“No problem,” he responds.
“It’s just really strange and kind of awkward all of this.” He points outside to the street.
“I know.”
“Didn’t mean to lecture you on what to do.”
The silence that follows highlights the noise from outside. There is still the racket of the news people.
