Oom was not sabaii. Too many farangs came into the bar. They all wanted her. She had already been upstairs 4 times today. 600 baht times 4, plus drinks. Almost 3000 baht. Oom was ready to quit, but the farangs were not interested in any other girls. Only Oom. She speed-dialed her cousin. Ping was long-timed to a German, but he slept most of the day. Oom was sure Ping would want to make more money. She finally realized that most of her older cousin’s money went to smoking ja-bah and not taking care of her baby.

Ping did not answer and the fattest farang in the bar came up to her.

“You sexy lady.”

“Mai ching.” She had heard a hundred farangs say the same thing to every lady in the Chic Car on Soi 6. None of them ever told the truth, but you could not expect the truth from such ugly men who fell for the calls of ‘sexy man’ from the girls of the Chic Bar.

Fools.

None of them were sexy.

Not like Bird. She loved Bird. He was krung-Thai. Oom knew every word to his song, Kob Jai Jing Jing. People said that Bird was gay. She didn’t care. He was only gay because he had never met her. She spun on the bar stool to ask the Mama-San to play this song. Instead the older woman ignored her request and played the stupid farang song HOTEL CALIFORNIA.

I was almost 6 PM. Oom had enough money in her pocket and her pussy was tired. The Chic bar was not her home, but neither was the room her older cousin rented on Soi BauhKhao. Ping’s boyfriend didn’t start work as a motorsai taxi until 8. Oom didn’t like the way he looked at her. It was the same way the old man at the Chic bar was staring at her.

Like he owned her. Oom stood up to go outside. Maybe another girl had ordered ting gai. She loved sucking on the fried chicken feet. Two steps into her retreat the old man grabbed her arm, “Where you going, sexy girl?”

“Go kin khao?” She gently pulled away her arm.

“I like you too much.” The old man sounded British. Not German. Not French. They were cheap Charlies. English were good for money. Americans the best and Israelis the worst. Ping had warned her about them.

“Never go long time with an Israeli.” Ping told her several stories about the Israelis gang-raping a bargirl. Only on Israeli had asked her to go upstairs. She had said ‘no’.

‘You like many lady. You big butterfly.” Oom spoke good English. Ping told her to speak stupid. Farangs liked their woman stupid.

“You want fly with me?” His breath smelled of rotten teeth.

“No, not tonight. I have period.” It was a lie, but only a small one.

“On the rag?” The old man made a face. It was not pleasant. he walked over to another bargirl. She was old as the man. They would go upstairs together. At this point in her career at Chic Bar, she could tell who was having sex with who. Sometimes she wished she didn’t have this gift because she knew that other people did to each other. This old man liked something dirty. oom was not a bad girl.

“Yes, I have ‘mem’.” Most men would steer clear of a lady on the rag.

Some men didn’t care and the fat man was one of them.

“See you see you.” Oom didn’t know what to say, but was happy to be in the outside air.

Sometimes the best thing to say to a farang was no.

At home she could dream of Bird. He was Oom’s hero.