Making the Rounds

After a yet another late evening shellacking at the hands of Newt and Rat at the Sports Academy Pool Bar, I was ready to call it a night. However, I happened to recall that another of my Eight Ball opponents at a place just down the street was going on vacation soon, and that I should stop in to say goodbye.

Fern is a sweet and simple young Thai woman with a nondescript figure and face that reminds me of a long-ago girl from my hometown. She began work a few months ago to support her year-old daughter. Though we keep score when we play, our matches are not the cutthroat, in-your-face battles I have at Sports Academy. Fern isn’t by nature a competitive person and not that good a player, either. So instead I try to make her laugh, which makes for a fun, lighthearted evening.

The girls who work at the pool bars receive a misery salary to the point where they rarely can afford their own apartment and have to live with friends or family. With Fern taking four unpaid days off to see her parents in the provinces, I figured she could use some extra help. Because of her child, and no boyfriend or husband around to provide assistance, I’ve always given her a nice tip, usually two hundred baht ($6). But this was a special occasion so I upped the ante to one thousand ($30).

By happy coincidence, it turns out that the bus fare home for Fern and the baby comes to almost the same amount as what I gave her: 1,080 baht. Upon hearing this I grinned, opened my wallet, and theatrically counted out four twenty baht notes to make up the difference. As Fern began to giggle, I then got out my coin purse and solemnly handed over three more baht, telling her to be careful with it. On that note I said goodnight and started on my way home.

For the past month, I had not seen Newt #2, a massage girl who works in the building next to my apartment. I would often run across her in the late evening, sitting on the curb taking a cigarette break. She speaks in a languid monotone that sounds computer-generated. I’d had her come to my apartment a couple of times two years ago for massages. On the second visit, she showed up in a dark silk dress. Leaning over as she kneaded my arm, her wild hair splashing on my face, she informed me of her price for any extracurricular activities. I almost succumbed. Almost. Corny as this may sound, there has to be a measure of affection — real or convincingly faked — from a lady before I take the plunge. 

Since then, Newt has seen me come and go with a number companions, a fact she has remarked upon. To try and stay on reasonable terms with a person I must stroll past two or three times a week, I started occasionally bringing her fruit drinks from the 7-11 a block away. Later I discovered she has a hankering for chocolate.

So when I ran across my old sentinel and renewed acquaintances — she had been visiting her family — I wasted no time hurrying on to my apartment to retrieve a small package of chocolate cookies I had stashed in my cupboard. When I returned with the present, Newt was already back at work (sort of), slumped over a table, half-asleep. Still adjusting to the night shift, no doubt. I gently placed the sweets between her outstretched arms.

Newt, like Fern, works well past midnight, six nights a week and is paid but a pittance. While I have no inclination to become involved with either of them, both are certainly deserving of a little kindness.

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