The mere mention of Bangkok’s Nana Plaza at a New York dinner table peaked the male guests’ interest of men and heightened women’s antipathy toward me. To the former I was a Don Juan and the latter regarded me as Gary Glitter come to life. To be honest I can’t recall ever bar fining a go-go girl out of the notorious three-story sex complex on Sukhumvit Road Soi across from the ever-infamous Nana Hotel. I was more into Patpong in the 90s and by the 00s and Nana Plaza was too mercenary for my tastes.

The other night the Old Roue and I finished dinner at La Monita, a trendy Mexican restaurant. A meal with Coronas for two came to 1200 baht or nearly $40 or the price of a bar fine in Nana Plaza. It was early and the Old Roue suggested that we retire to a ground-floor bar at the wicked entreat.

“We can watch the changing of the guard.”

I was glad to get out of La Monita. The clientele was too farangs for my taste. At heart I was a race traitor.

I sat behind the Old Roue on his motorcycle and he expertly snaked through the parking lots and hotel garages and sidewalks to Soi Nana. Nine year in Krung Thep had etched the short-cuts of Bangkok into his brain like a sailor’s tattoo. He parked his Honda 250 next to a cart selling sum tam.

The owner nodded to the Old Roue.

They had a long-term relationship.

We entered the complex with flecks on rain dotting the pavement. The entrance bars had been moved back from the portal to provide access for fire engines. Nana Plaza was almost synonymous with fire trap. If a fire starts there, it will only because the property as a condo building was more profitable than the sex trade, but for the present Nana Plaza was safe since the sex entrepot churned out more money than the Belgium steel industry.

The two of us sat at the first bar. We were the only farangs in sight. It was about 7. Post time for the go-go bars began around 8.

“This is better than TV.” The Old Roue ordered us beer. The interiors of the go-gos blared white light, as the staff hurriedly stocked the bars with beer, ice, and liquor. Mama-sans stood at the door awaiting their flocks. A few early arrivals wandered into the plaza and wai-ed the Buddha blessing their arrival. They laid flowers on the altar and proceeded to their respective places of employment.

“I like the transition.” Nana was coming to life with hundreds of succubii seeking farangs.

“Newcomers are the first to arrive.” The Old Roue had watched this ritual countless times. The spectacle never tired him and discreetly pointed to three older and dumpy farangs in shorts.

“They’ve left mother at home for the first time in decades to have a sex vacation with their friends. I make them for social workers or garbage men.”

“I see them more as English railroad workers.” The sweep-overs of these forty year-olds laid odds in my favor, except they passed us speaking an unknown foreign language.

“Serbs.” The Old Roue wrinkled his nose. “Momma’s boys to the man.”

“Better this than becoming sex predators.”

“Little danger of that from these boys. Look at how they walk.”

The Old Roue was right. He was 65 and I was 60. The trio shuffled with apprehension. The two of us could have beaten any of them in a 25-yard dash.

“Ah, the first beautiful girl of the night.”

“Wrong.” Old Roue shook his head. “Check the way she’s hurrying and fussing with her hair. That’s a kathoey. Big hands too means big feet.”

“Meaning big shoes.” I picked up my camera. The ladyboy would have stopped traffic on 5th Avenue for blocks. Her heels were five-inch spikes. The dress revealed a goddess body. Long curls serpented down a slim back. I recognized her from a ladyboy website. Her name was Areeya.

“No photos. Not here.” Old Roue admonished my absent-minded behavior.

“I know, I know.”

Nana Plaza had rules and we observed the influx of wasted and aged farangs. Hope and despair mingled in their eyes.

I ordered another beer.

Kathoeys showed up in clumps and I asked, “Where are all the girls?”

“It’s a Tuesday night. Most of the best girls have been barfined for the week. They’re sleeping with some old git, but they’ll desert him on Thursday to grind out money from the weekenders.” The Old Roue was right and I started to count the ratio between females and ladyboys. It was about 50/50 and I mentioned the numbers to the Old Roue.

“It’s all the same thing in the end. Farangs come here to answer a dream. Ladyboy or go-go girl. A young body makes them feel immortal at the gates of mortality.”

The two of us turned our backs on the show. A fat heavyweight fought a well-muscled boxer on TV. The butterball had to weigh over 350. His reach prevented any offense from his opponent. We made a 20-baht bet with the cute bartender. She lost and actually paid me. I gave it right back. 20 baht wasn’t what it used to be, but she could buy a coconut.

The stream of late-comers faltered and music blasted from the scores of bars lining the Nana Plaza.

“You feel like a go-go?”

I said no.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to make a mistake and end up with a ladyboy.”

Scores of the man-ladies were thronging into Nana Plaza. Their beauty shone in the flashing lights. I had drank three rhum-cokes. Even I felt handsome.

“You have something against shims?”

“No, they’re a lot of fun until your wife finds out.” The Old Roue knew Junior Mint. He thought she was special.

“And how would your wife find out your transgression?”

“I don’t know, but Thai women have an uncanny sense of a man’s willingness to be naughty.”

My cell phone rang. It was Mam.

“See.”

I answered the phone.

“You at Nana?”

“Yes, have many ka-thoeys.”

“Suai at night. Naki-at in morning.”

They were beautiful at night.

I haven’t woken with one in the morning, plus I was faithful to Junior Mint.

“Lak khun.”

I hung up and the Old Rouen said, “Uncanny is right.”

It was time to call it a night on Tuesday night.

Maybe on Friday night it would be different.

I am not scared of ka-thoeys.