EXCERPT: Patpong Sisters

by Cleo Odzer

"Next week, you want to go to dinner with me?" I asked her in Thai. "I'll pay the bar." Everyone in Bangkok knew how prostitution on Patpong worked. Every Saturday, a column in the English newspaper explained the routine. First, you paid the bar to take the girl off work. Then you made arrangements with the girl herself for sex, thereby profiting both the girl and the bar. Though I had no intention of buying sex or paying Pong for anything, I figured she'd be happy to get out for a night and we could become acquainted. I didn't know when or how to tell her I wanted to interview her. I'd have to wait till we establisheda rapport.

"Thank you," she said in English. She leaned her arm on my leg. Did she think I wanted her for sex? Well, it didn't matter what she thought at this point. We were going to be best buddies, I just knew it.

"Friday, I'll come back and we'll go out and have fun," I promised. "Now I must leave."

She yelled "CHECK BIN" to the hostess. Instead of asking for a check or a bill, Thais said "check bill," which they pronounced "check bin."

A wide man in a gold lame gown with matching gold high heels delivered the "check bin." As I looked it over, I spotted the 250 baht ($10) charge "for the show," a small fortune in Thailand. The tout had sworn there'd be no cover charge. I realized Winner's was a "ripoff bar." It was one of the eight bars in Patpong that overcharged customers and resorted to violence to collect. I knew the door would be locked until I paid. Tourist magazines advised what to do if you found yourself in this situation--PAY. Then go to the tourist police and complain. After a hassle, the money would be refunded. But I couldn't goto the police. I'd finally found myself an informant; I didn't want to lose her now.

Pong's face set into a stony shape as she gazed at the stage, pretending not to notice anything was amiss. She probably had to sit through this ordeal several times a night. Beneath his sparkly eye shadow, the man's eyes glared as if daring me to protest. Would he hurt me if I made a fuss? His muscular form did not match a female shape, despite the ruffles on his hem. Clipped in rhinestones, his long hair swooped to the side of his brow. I paid.

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