of makeup she’s wearing, though, I can’t tell for sure. She sits between this man, and the Turkish giant.
As soon as they are settled, the staff pours us a drink. I taste it, and it’s a fabulous iced tea. I ask my neighbor what type it is because it doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever had before.
“It’s chrysanthemum tea,” she says. “It’s a cooling tea. It helps cool the body for the digestion… and it also helps cool the mind before the discussions get too heated.”
The hint is clear: whoever ordered for the group is expecting fireworks.
Nevertheless, she’s most pleasant, and acts as if it’s a normal social dinner. She chatters about the advantages of living in Bangkok as we’re served tiny plates with bite-sized portions of various specialties. There’s a soup and then mini kebabs with shrimp and scallops, and it goes on and on.
The food is amazing, but no one seems to be enjoying it, except me. They’re all so tense that if one wrong word is spoken, the room will explode. Periodically, I glance in Oliver’s direction. He’s engaged in a heated discussion with the latecomer, and, even though he’s keeping the appearance of calm, I can see that he’s more than annoyed. His hands are rolled up in fists so tight that his knuckles are white.
We finish the meal, and one by one the other couples excuse themselves. Only four of us remain at the table. I get up to go to the bathroom; I drank so much tea that I’m drowning. I think I have a new addiction. Oliver barely acknowledges my departure with a nod.
The Thai woman gets up with me. She bends over to say something to the American, who shakes his hand at her, as if she was an annoying insect. She’s pissed, and I can’t blame her. I would be upset, too, if I were discarded in a similar fashion. I would consider ‘accidentally’ spilling a very cold drink on the man’s lap.
She walks with me to the lady’s room, where she readjusts her make-up. As I get out of my booth, she tells me, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being ignored.”
As I wash my hands, I answer, “The conversation was stilted but at least the food was good.”
“What do you say we go get a drink or two at the bar? Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and find guys who would enjoy spending some time with us!”
“Sure, why not,” I say, “I’m not sure they’ve noticed we’re gone.”
“I’m Apsara,” she says.
“Like the Cambodian dancers?” She nods. “I’m Jade.”
She laughs, and for an instant appears a lot younger. Underneath the stern appearance and the heavy make-up I see a girl about my age.
“How appropriate,” she says, “Jade is dating the Jade Master. Come on, Jade, let’s get smashed, and bill our drinks to their table.”
I follow her to the bar of the hotel, feeling very curious. She obviously knows Oliver. Maybe I’ll get some information about him from her.
She picks a central table not too far from a baby grand piano. A young man is playing an old Nat King Cole song. I thought that only my grandmother and I listened to that type of music these days.
The waiter comes to us. Apsara orders something for herself in Thai, and then asks me, “How drunk do you want to get?”
“Not too much,” I answer, “I never drink.”
“Oh, I see. So, something fruity with just a little kick for you!”
A few minutes later, I’m facing a tall glass with a mixture of exotic flavors. It’s sweet, but it’s laced with something strong that I can’t identify. Apsara has two small glasses of a clear liquid-Vodka maybe. Whatever it is, it’s strong because her eyes are all teary after she’s drank both shots.
She starts telling me about herself. She’s twenty-four. She’s not much older than me. She has studied gemology. Right now, she works in a lab where she tests precious and semi-precious stones.
I notice that the table she’s picked is strategically located. We’re far enough
As soon as they are settled, the staff pours us a drink. I taste it, and it’s a fabulous iced tea. I ask my neighbor what type it is because it doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever had before.
“It’s chrysanthemum tea,” she says. “It’s a cooling tea. It helps cool the body for the digestion… and it also helps cool the mind before the discussions get too heated.”
The hint is clear: whoever ordered for the group is expecting fireworks.
Nevertheless, she’s most pleasant, and acts as if it’s a normal social dinner. She chatters about the advantages of living in Bangkok as we’re served tiny plates with bite-sized portions of various specialties. There’s a soup and then mini kebabs with shrimp and scallops, and it goes on and on.
The food is amazing, but no one seems to be enjoying it, except me. They’re all so tense that if one wrong word is spoken, the room will explode. Periodically, I glance in Oliver’s direction. He’s engaged in a heated discussion with the latecomer, and, even though he’s keeping the appearance of calm, I can see that he’s more than annoyed. His hands are rolled up in fists so tight that his knuckles are white.
We finish the meal, and one by one the other couples excuse themselves. Only four of us remain at the table. I get up to go to the bathroom; I drank so much tea that I’m drowning. I think I have a new addiction. Oliver barely acknowledges my departure with a nod.
The Thai woman gets up with me. She bends over to say something to the American, who shakes his hand at her, as if she was an annoying insect. She’s pissed, and I can’t blame her. I would be upset, too, if I were discarded in a similar fashion. I would consider ‘accidentally’ spilling a very cold drink on the man’s lap.
She walks with me to the lady’s room, where she readjusts her make-up. As I get out of my booth, she tells me, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being ignored.”
As I wash my hands, I answer, “The conversation was stilted but at least the food was good.”
“What do you say we go get a drink or two at the bar? Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and find guys who would enjoy spending some time with us!”
“Sure, why not,” I say, “I’m not sure they’ve noticed we’re gone.”
“I’m Apsara,” she says.
“Like the Cambodian dancers?” She nods. “I’m Jade.”
She laughs, and for an instant appears a lot younger. Underneath the stern appearance and the heavy make-up I see a girl about my age.
“How appropriate,” she says, “Jade is dating the Jade Master. Come on, Jade, let’s get smashed, and bill our drinks to their table.”
I follow her to the bar of the hotel, feeling very curious. She obviously knows Oliver. Maybe I’ll get some information about him from her.
She picks a central table not too far from a baby grand piano. A young man is playing an old Nat King Cole song. I thought that only my grandmother and I listened to that type of music these days.
The waiter comes to us. Apsara orders something for herself in Thai, and then asks me, “How drunk do you want to get?”
“Not too much,” I answer, “I never drink.”
“Oh, I see. So, something fruity with just a little kick for you!”
A few minutes later, I’m facing a tall glass with a mixture of exotic flavors. It’s sweet, but it’s laced with something strong that I can’t identify. Apsara has two small glasses of a clear liquid-Vodka maybe. Whatever it is, it’s strong because her eyes are all teary after she’s drank both shots.
She starts telling me about herself. She’s twenty-four. She’s not much older than me. She has studied gemology. Right now, she works in a lab where she tests precious and semi-precious stones.
I notice that the table she’s picked is strategically located. We’re far enough
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