by Jay J Carr
Tonight she laments the changing face of the bar scene in Bangkok. “Too many bar,” she protests. The hands are extended into the ether and beat the air. He smiles at the action. He wonders if she thinks she is reclaiming space this way.
The music is tranquil for a change and not the loud thudding. He is pleased, as doesn’t have the energy to compete with the noise. He smiles at her, nods and interjects with basic statements and laughs. With time the conversation dies and they just sit listening to the music and watching the bored faces of the ‘boys’. He feels himself drifting into sleep and is about to pay and leave when the Mama-san jumps up to greet a new customer.
“Welcome,” she bellows and minces over. The man does not even acknowledge her and makes his way to the front of the stage within a meter of the ‘boys’. The Mama-san looks confused and is not sure what to do. The silhouette of the man is in full view and he looks over each ‘boy’ carefully - up and down, but then at their faces for the longest time. He does not move from his position but his eyes do all the work in contrast to the lifeless scowl on his face.
The Mama-san who waits patiently moves after five minutes and steps forward and asks, “You want ‘boy’?”
But he does not respond. There is silence and complete disregard for her existence. Although her mouth is open no words come out of it.
Another minute passes, then another. He points directly at a stocky ‘boy’ in the back and commands, “That one.” The ‘boys’ on the stage have stopped their lethargic movement and stare at him. The Mama-san takes out her pad to write up the bill. She does it quickly and without looking at her, he pulls out a bill. “Tell him to meet me outside.” He is gone quickly.
The energy in the bar has changed. The ‘boys’ are restless and he does not want to stay anymore. He indicates with his hands for the bill.
“You go? No ‘boy’?” she asks.
“I am tired.”
He pays and exits the bar as the ‘boy’ who has changed to go with the client walks outside.
He hears the ‘boy’ say, “My name Lek.”
“Don’t talk,” is the response he gets.
New Jersey-
10.
Cunningham’s interview of yesterday is the focus of allegations into his use of male prostitutes from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok. So far, there has been no official response from the Peace Prize Committee. We wait to now that this information has surfaced whether they will defend the choice, or revoke the prize.
He watches, no longer in disbelief but with numbness.
The house has been silent ever since Charles temporarily moved out. The interview was too much. The return of the press outside had also taken a toll on their relationship. The press never left and were camped 24 hours outside. The lights on to ensure that the reporters were lit up. What made him happy about this, and there was nothing else was, that it would piss off the bitch next door. They hated each other and used any opportunity to upset the other.
When they had fought the night before after Charles had watched the interview, it had been very different to any other. No more mudslinging, no more defending thoughts, just a discussion around the dogs of all things. Who was going to get them? To make his point he had said they needed to be split – one for each of them. This was not going to be a custody battle; he wasn’t interested in sharing them over weekends. At first he had pleaded for this not to be the case.
Charles had started packing his suitcases - packing all of his clothes, cd’s and personal effects that his parents had given them. In the past, this kind of threat had been used in a fight. A dramatic exit but without any belongings, returning an hour later to carry on fighting. He thought this strategy would give him an advantage. Charles had won, that was for sure.
“Come on, we have been together for 23 years.”
“Well, you should have thought about that when you fucked half of the world.”
“Please …”
“I am packing. Leave me alone.”
“If you are going to take the dogs, then take both.” It was the only thing he could think of saying.
There was no response to this statement. He didn’t know if he agreed or not. Suitcase after suitcase were closed, zipped up and placed at the front door. After that, there was no more talking.
The dogs were put in the car along with everything else and then he was gone in a flash of lights.
He should have asked where they were going – a hotel, an apartment or friends house?
It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
Bangkok-
11.
Tod's eyes took some time to adjust to the dimly lit room. He made out a sofa, the bed and the ‘boy’ sitting in an armchair to the right. The ‘boy’ was shy and raised his hands in greeting and Tod had returned the courtesy.
He walked over to the sofa and gently asked, "Can I sit?"
The ‘boy’ nodded and he sat down.
The ‘boy’ had a young face. He must have been in his middle twenties and there was an element of wariness about him, as he preferred not to make direct eye contact. Tod smiled and he smiled too but still did not look level at him.
"I am thankful that you agreed to this,” he said, realizing for the first time since the story broke that he could say it with conviction.
The ‘boy’ did not say anything but nodded his head in acknowledgment.
"You agreed to being interviewed and have spoken to our Thai producer about some things. I would like to confirm these with you." The ‘boy’ now looked serious and the smile was gone - in its place earnestness.
"I speak and say some things and he agree. No want problem," the voice was worried and the words came out quickly.
Tod made sure to move in his chair to cause the ‘boy’ to look at him. It worked and looking directly into his eyes said, "Everything you want we have agreed to. But I want you to please go through these requests one more time."
The ‘boy’ hesitated and his face was somber, his brow furrowed when he looked to Tod and said, "My English not good. I try ..."
"Take as long as you want and remember that I can call the Thai producer and put him on speaker phone. We can speak that way if it will make you feel more comfortable."
The ‘boy’ took a few seconds to process this and then looked at him again and said, "Okay, okay ..."
"You want me to call the Thai producer?" Tod asked.
"No, no," his hands rose as he said this. "I tell you, but maybe not clear."
"No problem," Tod said, thankful that there wouldn’t be any interruptions. "I have the notes from him. Can I maybe read them to you." Tod pulled out his notes from his backpack, as well as his reading glasses. "You requested that there are no people in the room during the interview," he looked up at the ‘boy’. "Does that include the cameraman?"
"Is he Thai?" the ‘boy’ asked.
"Yes," Tod said, "he works for us."
"No. No Thai."
"Okay, so it will only be you and me." He let out a deep contemplative breath as he tried to work out how this was going to be possible. "I will have the room prepared, with the camera ... it could be on and ... We will work something out."
The ‘boy’ moved uncomfortably in the chair and Tod decided to speed things up. "We will not show your face, so the camera will only film behind you with a shadow so that there is no way to recognize your face. You can also leave at any time." He looked up again and the ‘boy’ nodded.
"I hope that my notes are correct?"
"Yes," was the response.
"I have many questions to ask you. Some will be very personal, if you don't want to answer say 'no' and I will move on to the next question."
"Yes," again.
Tod was relieved and let out another sigh.
"We are going to do the interview here in this room, so we will need some time to set up. There is a coffee shop in the hotel. Why don't you go and order something to eat and drink and I will come and fetch you once it is read
y. Thirty minutes?"
The ‘boy’ nodded and slowly stood up and walked out of the room, as if he had done this before.
Tod busied himself getting the cameraman who had been waiting in the adjoining room with Hurtle. Hurtle was once again on the phone acting important and he didn't care, and said, "He's agreed to the interview but no one can be there. Not even the cameraman."
Hurtle eyebrows went up with anger, and he quickly snapped, "Gotta go. Speak later." The phone was dropped onto the table while he looked at Tod. "For fuck's sake! So just how are we going to do the fucking interview?"
"I guess we could leave the camera rolling and then do the interview and stop once he has left. Or you can show me how to start and I can do it and then stop when he leaves?"
"Well that is a possibility." Hurtle said, as his face showed he was scheming. "We could then maybe get a shot of his face which can be used later if we need to. Okay like that."
"Let's respect his wishes. He trusts us,” Tod said in protest.
"What the fuck has come over you? Who cares about his fucking trust Mother Teresa? We will have the footage by then."
Tod walked out of the room, after motioning for the cameraman to follow and slammed the door behind him.
He did this before Hurtle could say anything more. He was not going to decide how and where to set up the camera.
That Place-
12.
It is early in his day, although late in the afternoon and he makes his way to his usual breakfast spot, one that serves breakfast all day. He struggles to wake up and orders coffee after coffee. After eating he thinks he should go back to the hotel and sleep some more, his body protesting. Walking back, the activity in the street is already in full force and he dodges people and goods, puddles and dogs lying lazily in the pathway.
“Maasssaaaagggee,” extends to him and it’s a lady’s voice. He is programmed to ignore it. Maybe he should have a massage instead of an extended sleep, which is going to leave him disoriented and grumpy for the rest of the day. At least if it is a woman he won’t have to worry about the ‘happy ending’ and potential of falling in love with a ‘massage boy’.
His first experience with a ‘massage boy’ was by accident. There were many advertisements for gay massage and he thought that this meant the masseur would be naked and he could have a look. How wrong he was. It was a massage to start off but then quickly became an intimate session, which included being touched all over his body as well as a sensual masturbation that left him really relaxed. He later discovered this was a ‘happy ending’. And a ‘happy’ ending it was. The masseur was tall and handsome and had magic hands and he would stare at him throughout the session.
Back on the street he was still thinking about whether to have a massage or not. He walks over and looks at the menu offered. There are both male and female masseurs. This is not a gay massage so he starts to like the idea more and more.
“I would like a massage.”
“Boy or girl?” she asks.
“Does it matter?” he responds.
“Boy or girl?” her face is confused.
“Well as I said, I just want a basic massage,” he curtly responds.
“Boy strong. Girl not so strong,” she retorts.
“Well I like soft massage.”
She stands up and leads him inside the spa.
He is offered water and the formal spa menu, everything he was offered at the gay massage where he liked to visit. He laughs not thinking the two would emulate each other so much. He selects his normal - a Swedish massage.
She leads him up the stairs to the therapy room. There are two floors of therapy rooms and he starts to relax, this place is a legitimate spa. The setup is slightly different to the ‘others’ as it includes a shower inside the room.
“You shower.” She points to the towel and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
He quickly undresses and it is now that he misses the two ‘massage boys’ who would wash him, all naked together gently touching each other. He washes off the soap and dries himself off and while he does this she re-enters the room and oblivious to the fact that he is stark naked prepares the oils, and cover for the massage bed. She continues as if he is not there.
He covers himself with the towel and as quickly she rips it off and points to the bed. The embarrassment is overwhelming and he wants to cover himself in shame.
“Lie down. Head touch bed.”
Maybe things are done differently in terms of normal massage in Thailand. He obeys the order. She covers his back with a sheet and slowly starts to massage his feet.
There is silence and he relaxes. Her technique is not the best and he can’t help compare her to that dreamy muscular ‘massage boy’ who worked on him - every now and then his naked body touching his.
“Turn over,” she commands.
“Um, okay. What about …” but then resists asking the question and turns over exposing his genitals in the process.
She continues working and then his worst fear! “Can I massage ‘friend’?” At first the confusion, but then she gently touches the tip of his penis and he instinctively removes her hand from it.
Was he that naïve he thinks. “Um,” he says, “no thanks, just normal massage.”
It does not end there and as much as he protests she keeps asking in a voice, which starts somewhat authoritative to one, which eventually resembles Minnie Mouse on crack. “You like, you like, playyy with specialllll friend.” This was his favorite time during ‘gay massage’, when the two ‘massage boys’ and him could play.
He keeps protesting as she pulls his nipples, tickles his stomach and eventually touches his ‘special friend’ again.
“No thank you,” he chokes. Is this his first straight experience?
“You no like me?” she feigns disappointment.
“No, you are hilarious,” he says.
“Shower,” she says and smiles, before exiting the room.
With his clothes back on, paying for the massage and reflecting, he gives her a generous tip in front of the others. “You are amazing,” he says loudly.
That place – with all of its sights, tastes and most importantly touch.
New Jersey-
13.
There is nothing left in the house- both physically (including food) and spiritually (they had devoured all of him).
He has stopped looking at Susan’s sms’ and has allowed the battery to drain on the phone. The bell has not been reconnected and even if she has tried to see him in person, she would not have been able to.
He wanders around the house walking from room to room; he is losing it. If he is going to survive he needs to escape all of this. He needs to leave and go somewhere; somewhere where nobody can identify him; where he can be anonymous; where he can have a chance to think. An idea comes to him of where he can go. It is trying to plan it that will be the real issue.
He has never done this before, so he doesn’t know if each of the activities will work or not, but he is going to try – this is all he can do.
It started with a phone call to the airline.
“Hi, this is Dr Cunningham’s secretary, Michael.” This is something he thinks about as he dials. “He would like to use your airline to fly to Singapore. I need to know if you have a VIP protocol in place that he would be able to use to ensure that his privacy is guaranteed.”
“One moment please, while I transfer you to customer service.”
They probably don’t; or don’t think he is important, which he is not.
“Hello, Michael. This is Penelope Tan from the customer service desk. My colleague has informed me Dr Cunningham would like to fly with us. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Not sure if you know who Dr Cunningham is?”
“Yes, we do know. Have you booked tickets for him yet?”
He has not thought about the obvious. “No, not yet. He first wanted me to confirm whether it was possible and then to book.”
�
�Well maybe I can run you through our protocol?”
“Yes, please do.”
“We can send a car to collect him. We do not use a noticeable luxury vehicle but a SUV, which has semi-darkened windows. We would suggest wearing informal clothes, dark glasses as well as a hat or cap. We then transfer the guest to the VIP area of the airport, which includes passport formalities done in the VIP lounge. After this, once the plane is still empty we board the guest. They are seated in the first class seating area, normally at the back left or right. We then start regular boarding. A similar service is done in Singapore, although we need 24 hours notice to do this. The guest is transferred from the plane to the VIP section for passport formalities. Once completed, we transfer the guest to their hotel in a pre-arranged vehicle. We will also liaise with the hotel to ensure they are able to transfer the guest accordingly. It does however normally mean through the service entrance. Sorry, I know that is a lot to take in but just wanted to ensure you of the process that we have in place.”
“Thank you … um …” He can’t remember her name. “What does this service cost, so that I can inform Dr Cunningham’s team?”
“Oh, yes. It’s included in the cost of the first class ticket.”
“Right then,” he says. “We will then look into it.” He will have to check the price if he is going to go this route. “Shall I call you back, once I have more finite detail?”
“Yes, please do. I will give you my direct number.”
He writes down the number and reads it back to her making sure it is correct.
“Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure.”
It is probably way out of his price range, but he thinks he will look anyway. He opens his laptop and clicks on the airline’s website. He punches in the details of the trip - two days from now. He selects First Class and waits while the circle turns round and round calculating the price. It is astronomic. More expensive than he thought it would be. How is he going to pay for this without waiting to have money released from investments?
