The Story of S

by Jordan Clark (United States of America)

Making a local connection Thailand

Me (J): Which part of Thailand are you from? S: [She named a Thai city that I could not pronounce or remember] J: Where’s that? S: East, it’s small. Where are you from? J: California. Los Angeles. S: Wow so far. Can you buy me a drink? J: Sure, what do you want? S: Tequila. I nodded and she walked over to the bar. S was a “go-go girl” and I was in Soi Cowboy, Bangkok’s most notorious red-light district. She came back with a small metal tray of limes, salt, and a shooter. I clanked my beer bottle with her glass. We cheered and drank. J: I’m curious. Can you tell me how much money you make from that shot? S: The drink was 230 baht [$7.41], I get 70 baht [$2.26]. The bar keeps the rest. J: How long have you worked here? S: Seven months. J: Do you like working here? S: Mhm I like it. What do you do? J: I am a student. S: You look young. J: How old do you think I am? S: I don’t know. Twenty-two. J: I’m twenty. She looked taken aback by my age. We talked about our families and somehow, I asked. J: Do you send money home, to your family? S: Yes, at least twice a month. J: Do other girls here have similar situations? S: Yes, most of them. She pointed to the other dancers. A silent pause followed. I stared blankly at the stage, as if the poles and people were transparent. S: Can you buy me another drink? Tequila? J: Yeah… of course. If I was being fooled, then I would never escape the trap. I wanted the whole story. I had to know. J: How much do you get when someone pays to sleep with you? S: Six-thousand baht [$193.5]. The bar gets seven hundred [$22.6]. J: And how many men have you been with during your time here? S: I can’t tell you. You are not my boyfriend! I would stop working here if I had a boyfriend. She said this with a grin, accompanied by a chuckle. Still curious, I probed further. J: Would you date someone like me? S: Yeah but no. Would you take me to California? Get me a visa? J: If I did, would you leave with me? S: Yes. J: You would leave Thailand behind, even your family? S: Yes, I would go. The “yes” was confident, accompanied by a firm nod. But what struck me was that there was no hesitation. Her answer sounded premeditated. If she was serious, then what degree of daily terror was she experiencing? Noticing my slump, she pinched my cheeks and smiled. The pinch was a warm tug, like a pinch my mother would give. J: How many people have asked you questions like this before? S: Just you. J: In all seven months, I am the only person to ask? S: Yes. Her eyes glanced away from mine as she looked at the floor. Noticing that our conversation would produce no more words or money, S asked the following in a low voice as if she didn’t want to speak it. S: You either need to pay to go outside or upstairs with me, or I have to go. J: You should go. As I was walking towards the exit, I looked back to see her one last time. I wanted, so desperately, for there to be a moment in which we would both share eye contact and nod in unison. The communal gesture would signify that the words she had said had a listener, an empathetic confidant. Like a film scene, the glance would be the climax in which the score reached its final crescendo, with the shot fully zoomed out and the audience in catharsis. But film belongs in the studio. My final glance observed her engaged in another conversation. Near where we sat, she was leaning into an overweight and middle-aged Asian male. She never glanced back at me. It was Thursday morning at 2:33 AM, the night still young for Soi Cowboy. S was back to work and I, a distant and past project.