On the Prowl (Part 5)
Foxy Lady
© Nightlife -  Travelers' Net

It was running kind of late so everybody on the streets was gravitating towards Soi Sunset. I followed the stream of black-haired ladies in black dresses up Bangla Road to the Vienna Bar.

Exhausted after the long walk I climbed a barstool and with the last bit of power I ordered a Jack Daniels and a beer to go with it. I relaxed a little, while my bloodpressure returned to normal. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed the football game on the monitor, when…

SMACK. There she was! Do you remember Manfred Mann? Doo wah diddy diddy…? Well, old Manfred didn't know it back then, but this was the girl, he was singing about. White tank top and a sweatshirt tucked around he waist.

Showing a lot of skin and a navel like a fingerprint in almond paste. She was just standing there, lost in a world of her own, swaying softly to the music.

I took a swing at my whisky and pondered upon a strategy of how to maneuver my humble own self into the swaying world of this brownskinned little angel. Nothing came to mind. So I did it the simple way. I walked over to her, took her hand and asked:

Why do you carry your wristwatch on the right arm? Because I can see with my right eye only, she replied. Well isn't that great!  I exclaimed, because I can only see with my left eye!

So we fell into each other's arms and lovely Dukdah - that was her name - planted a lingering kiss on my lips.

She told me her life's story. Born and raised in the poor province of Isaan, she left her home at the tender age of 18 to seek fame and fortune in fair Phuket. She had been working as a waitress in a Thai restaurant, where she was paid only three thousand Baht per month.

Her mother had fallen sick and her brother had had a motorbike accident in Chiang Mai so now she was looking for a well-paid job because her poor family had only her to rely on. Her friends had suggested that she might try her luck as a bargirl. Today was the first time she ever had ventured into the noisy, happy nightlife of Patong. I felt genuine compassion for the little thing and offered her a beer.

No no, she said -I drink Black Label only!  Good for head-ache. So we shared a bottle of the brown stuff and by the time the bottle was empty I was kind of full. Lovely Dukdah looked me in the eye. You mau (drunk) already, she said. I agreed. Maybe we better go home! You have my wife already? No, I said - I have neither your wife nor my own! Okay. Where is your hotel?

At this point it became increasingly difficult for me to focus. I kind of hinted that I was a rich oil-sheik who stayed at the Royal Suite on Diamond Cliff. What happened later on is only a blur in my memory. I remember part of the tuktuk ride with lovely Dukdah and the wind in my drunken face. I don't recall the expression on her face or what she said, when we arrived at my humble residence on Soi Nanai.

I am sure the two of us had a good time. I vaguely remember her waking me up - and I again falling  asleep on the kitchen table - Did I hear her asking me where where the floor brush was?

I didn't have the strength to wonder about that. I mumbled something about stars and coffeshops and went right back to a perturbed sleep full of dreams about brownskinned sirens with pink bikinis.

The next day I woke up in a different house. Well, not really a different house. But a clean house. Really clean. Really spick and span. Incredible. It hadn't looked like this since I moved in. I searched for Dukdah, but she wasn't there. She had left a lipstick note on my bathroom mirror, though. It read:

"Thank you to much, tirak. I go home see mother in hospital. Come back to you again." Now - there is a lot to be said about nightlife Patong. Sure. But whoever said it was dirty has never met my Dukdah.