Free Private Dancer by Stephen Leather Page B

performing, but it was just a performance. Acting. And I figured that the more money she earned from 'legitimate' work, the less incentive there'd be for her to let someone pay her bar fine.
    “What you think?” she asked.
    “I'm not sure,” I said. I explained my reservations about farangs watching her with another girl.
    “Same dancing,” she said.
    I wasn't sure if it was. When she was dancing she was always with other girls, often more than a dozen. Doing the lesbian show put her centre stage.
    “Do you want to do it?” I asked.
    “Up to you,” she said.
    The girls on the stage changed position, one squatted over the other, balancing herself by holding one of the silver poles, and began to moan with simulated pleasure as the other used her tongue. The Germans leered and leaned forward for an even closer view.
    “You wouldn't be shy?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “It not real,” she said. "Same movie star.” She was right. It was acting, a show for the tourists.
    “Okay,” I said. “Why not try it? See if you like it.”
    Joy nodded. “Okay, Pete. I do for you.”
    Two days later it was Joy's first appearance as a 'special artist'. Her new role also meant that her bar fine had increased - before midnight it now cost a thousand baht to buy her out because if she wasn't there someone else would have to be found to take her place. After midnight, her bar fine dropped to seven hundred baht.
    The lights dimmed and Joy and Wan skipped up onto the stage. Wan was a cute nineteenyear-old with shoulder length hair and an upturned nose that had cost her twenty thousand baht from one of Bangkok's top plastic surgeons. She was one of Joy's closest friends and they often arrived at Zombie together.
    Wan spread a tartan blanket over the dancefloor, then the two girls took off their leopard-print sarongs and bikinis to hoots and cheers from the farangs. The slow music started and Joy and Wan went into an unconvincing clinch. Joy reached up and held on to two of the silver poles,
    while Wan began to plant small kisses over Joy's breasts. Joy looked across at me and began to giggle. In fact she giggled throughout the show. Wan did, too. They knew all the moves, but it was clear that they weren't taking it seriously. At one point the mamasan, a fifty-something old bat with a hairy mole on her left cheek, shouted something to the girls and they began to fake orgasms, but after a few minutes they both collapsed into giggles again.
    When the show was over, Wan gathered up the blanket and Joy pulled on her bikini and shawl and scampered over to where I was sitting. “What you think?” she asked.
    “You kept laughing,” I said.
    “Jug ga jee,” she said. Ticklish. “You can come to G-Spot with me?” she asked. “I have to do shower show and I shy go alone.”
    G-Spot was one of the upstairs bars. Along one wall was a glass panel behind which were a number of shower heads. I'd been up a few times to see the shower shows, but basically all you're looking at is a line of girls getting wet. It wasn't much of a turn on, though tourists and first-timers seem to get a kick out of it.
    I paid my bill and Joy took my hand and led me out of Zombie. Several heads turned to watch us go. Joy was one of the sexiest girls in Nana Plaza and in her green bikini top and with her leopard-print sarong tied around her waist, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I was proud to be seen with her, and even prouder that she wanted me to go with her.
    Joy stood by me while she waited to be called for the show. I bought her a cola and she sipped it through a straw. G-Spot wasn't an especially popular bar: most men preferred to stick to the ground floor. I don't know if it was because they couldn't be bothered with the stairs but for most visitors to Nana Plaza, the upper floors were undiscovered country. As a result, the prettiest girls tended to work on the ground floor where the bars were busier. I could tell from the way Joy was preening herself that she