After Mrs. Golddigger had left, I went out. I needed fresh air and to get out of this apart-hotel I’d been staying in for almost a week now. My search for a woman who would live naked around me was getting complicated. Not because candidates were not willing but because they didn’t suit me. That was a surprise.
Then again, if I and a woman, much more three women, should spend my last years together in one recluse house by the ocean, them in the nude all day, we’d have to be of compatible temperament. They were all nice, those candidates, but they were not for me, if only because I had no more time, nor the will, to argue with any woman, with anyone as a matter of fact. I knew now that I could go back to my place by the beach and buy three dogs and I wouldn’t have a worry in the world. And I know for a fact that dogs will come to swim with me. Anyway, I went out that evening.
After a bit of walking, I ended up in a funky bar, a local place catering to workers and poor people still young and lively. The place was rather busy, mostly men and a few hookers. It was called BAR A GO GO, which in French means bar for idiots, a bar for dupes. A mockery, perfect for me. I was the only white guy in there and the oldest person, other than maybe the mama behind the cash register. I was drinking beer at the bar and bothering no one, lost in my thoughts. Even the hookers weren’t pestering me; “too old or too washed out,” they probably figured. What otherwise would I be doing in such a place at this time of night?
But one guy got curious and started to talk to me, buying a beer. He spoke some broken English but there was no malice in him so I chatted with him nicely and, since he was asking for it, told him about Paris, Chicago, Miami. Then more people got interested, every new guy buying a round. That was Ok with me. See, that’s one of the differences between poor and rich people: the poor buy a round, the rich get invited. Those guys at the BAR A GO GO were asking questions for their money and by now old Mr. Me had plenty of stories for all of them and they kept buying rounds, soon with chasers of local moonshine. OK, I knew where I came from and I knew those guys and I could drink with them.
So this was a very good day after all. Good thing is, in this capital of this southeastern Asian country, I can still smoke in bars and that helps a great deal. So we were steadfastly getting drunk and having a good time. Alas, as everyone knows, you can go anywhere in the world, it doesn’t matter how far, there’s always an asshole, one that would call the police on you.
He was the one. He asked me, aloud, with a smirk:
“So you like Asian girls?” and then I saw him translate his question to everybody, loudly, with a smile.
What the fuck? We weren’t especially talking about women, Asian or not, but now all those people were interested and silent and waiting for my answer. It was late and we had been drinking and even the little whores were listening.
“Do I like Asian girls? Sure,” I answered. “Who wouldn’t?”
Everybody laughed but was still waiting for more. So the asshole insisted. “Why? Why do you like Asian women?” I was thinking “why, oh why do you have to be the token asshole?” The son of a bitch hadn’t even paid for a round and showed up from nowhere. “Yes,” he said with a wicked twist of the mouth, “tell us why you like Asian women.”
“Dude, I don’t have to tell you anything,” I said, “but, alright, I’ll tell you something,” and I looked at this sorry assortment of poor people, drunk, going yeah, yeah in their dialect. “And you’d better translate it right since you’re so smart,” I added to the asshole’s intention. “Ok, I like Asian women because they’re not Christian. That doesn’t mean they have no religion – although I’d be hard pressed to tell you what’s the religion of today’s 30 year-old Shanghainese women – but Asian in general, Asian women in particular, are not Christian and that makes a big difference to an occidental godly white guy. For an old white guy like me, that helps because in the white world, desiring a woman is, in itself, a sin. In Asia, sex is a different issue than in Europe or the USA because, in Asia, it never was a sin. Except in Korea, of course. In Korea, you’ll find a lot of Christians and, believe me, Korean Christian girls are a pain in the ass just like any white Christian girl.”
My audience liked that and laughed. I knew that everyone in Asia hates Koreans. The most beautiful Asian women are said to be Korean; this, I think, explaining that. Then again, they all hate each other, just like us in Occident and all over the world.
From Korea the subject went on to Japanese women and nobody cared no more for my opinion. I saw the little asshole seething. Then the apparatchik left. Eventually, everybody was gone. The bartender was a nice kid, smart and hard working. He asked me again about Paris, Miami, Chicago. I gave him hope.
I closed the bar with him, gave a nice tip and stumbled back to my apart-hotel in the wee hour of the morning and crashed in bed, safe and alive still.
Ding Dong Ding Dong
What the fuck? What time is it? 10 am!!! What the fuck?
I had a hangover, my head hurt – goddamn local moonshine – and I had first to realize that someone was ringing my bell. Then I wondered for a minute who the hell could that be and found no answer other than a stupid maid who didn’t know I was staying one more day. I’m sleeping naked so, then, I had to remember where I put my shorts. I almost fell while putting them on.
Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong
What the fuck!!!!! “OK, OK I’M COMING,” I screamed, in a bad mood.
I opened the door, somewhat violently. There was this woman, in her late forties, early fifties, standing up erect. She said: “Bonjour. My name is May Linh. I’m sent by Mrs. Wan’s office for an employment interview.”
One thing I noticed: she was coquette.