New Star Page 8

  I look down at the khaki clad crew cut vultures and shake my head in disgust. It will never change. These guys will all move on to another country and do the same thing they are doing now, and I’ll move on to another place and try to forget my time in Vietnam. So it goes.

  35

  The summer rain has come to an end, and the humidity has dropped to a bearable level. All over the city, people seem happier and full of energy. The skies of late have been rather blue and full of high white clouds.

  A nice calm at the end of my summer-long storm, I am ready to leave Vietnam. Another month of pretending to care about English, and I’ll go travel Laos and Cambodia. Vietnam and (you pick the country) will always continue their bilateral ties, and all Vietnam’s government ministries will always report a rise in production of some useless product. It’s how it goes in Communist Central.

  The dossier the secret police keep on me will be retired and filed away somewhere. Michael Bishop, a tall lanky American with balding hair, kept to himself for the most part, was respectful of his neighbors, occasionally had sex with prostitutes and may have bought drugs at night from motorbike drivers on the dark streets of the Old Quarter.

  The self-deprecation and mockery of Vietnamese news knows no end when I ride on the back of a motorbike taxi.

  The fronds of trees sway in the gentle breeze. Autumn is slowly ascending upon Hanoi, and the golden hue of the sunlight has given all the buildings and trees a nostalgic look, as if some French photographer captured it in a sepia-toned photo.

  The motorbike comes to a stop outside of New Star, and I hop off the back, paying the driver for the ride to work. I walk up the concrete steps into work, past the vacant front desk and into the staff room.

  Mark and Big Tom wanted us all here early for some big announcement. All the office staff, Drew, Mair, Steve and Chris are already there. I grab my books from my pigeonhole and begin to scribble some lesson plans for the evening.

  Big Tom walks into the room. “Everyone, this is Frank,” he says, introducing a short stocky middle-aged Korean guy. “He invested in New Star, and we’re going to use that money to expand the school.”

  We teachers applaud and clap, feigning a real care about Mark and Big Tom’s front to party and shag whores.

  “Thanks,” Frank stammers in broken English. “I came from Korea because I see big opportunity in Vietnam. I excited to work with you gentlemen.”

  Again we clap, pretending to give a shit about Frank and his money.

  “What’s the first thing you are going to do with the money?” Mair asks.

  “We’re going to rent the building right behind us to get more classrooms for our expansion,” Big Tom answers.

  A stock answer if I ever heard one, I ask, “What new contracts have you gotten?”

  “We got the development bank, VTV and some more Vietnam Airlines classes coming soon,” Big Tom says. “Anyway, I wanted you to meet Frank. He’s going to be shadowing me and learning how we do things at New Star.”

  Going to see how you do things at New Star? Why don’t you just come out and say you have a new whoring buddy whose money you and Mark will blow, while putting little to no effort into the school?

  With a small modicum of competency, I reckon New Star would have become the largest language school in Hanoi. Mark blew all the Australian Christians’ money on booze and whores. Then Big Tom and he blew all Big Tom’s wife’s money on booze and whores. Then they blew some Aussie university’s investment on more booze and whores. And now, we have Frank’s money.

  36

  Both Drew and I have decided to not get involved with Quan and Chinh’s venture of starting an IELTS school. Drew doesn’t want to deal with the headache, and I could care less about their school. Meanwhile, Rick has quit New Star and is now working at another language school in town.

  Our new Director of Studies, Joseph, is a bald, tall and lanky former headmaster from some school in Melbourne. All business and strict in appearance, he wears tailored clothing and designer glasses. I’m sure he’ll be gone after a few months of dealing with no money to update the English programs and the teaching resources.

  I’ll establish some rapport with him to keep my schedule relatively the same and free of children’s classes. It’s the same when any new DOS turns up. Get on their good side, do a few favors for them, and they’ll leave you alone.

  I wish the same could be said of Frank. He found out I lived in Korea for a year, and now he wants to be my pal, which involves me going to the karaoke ôm place with him, Mark and Big Tom. He wasted no time in joining the party, and word has it that he has a wife and family back in Korea.

  After Big Tom and Murray’s final scene, I have no desire to step foot in any karaoke ôm place. Nor, do I have a desire to spend my remaining days on the piss with Big Tom, Mark and Frank.

  Steve has left New Star and is working for the BBC full time and writing for the inflight magazine of Vietnam Airlines. A much better gig than pretending to care about the English development of Vietnamese students. Mair, Chris, Drew and I are the only teachers left from when I started here a few months ago.

  Big Tom and Joseph have hired a few new teachers who I haven’t seen. They must be teaching the morning adult classes and the children’s classes on Saturday.

  The teacher turnover continues to average three months. I’m amazed I have lasted almost two years working on and off, as Hanoi is not a welcoming place after the first few months. The daily hassle and haggling for everything becomes tiresome, and the lack of culture outside of Vietnamese culture never changes.

  I’m tired of being an island of culture to myself. The third floor of my house remains empty. The paints and empty canvases continue to mock me, and every attempt to get a housemate has failed. It’s getting time to downsize my life, cancel the lease on the house and send some stuff home.

  37

  Vietnam and Mike Bishop have vowed to not renew their bilateral ties. The imaginary headline swirls through my head as I sit outside in the labyrinth of streets in the Old Quarter near Hoan Kiem Lake. Drew and I are at the Tropical Lizard, some new bar a French guy has opened up.

  The bamboo-lined walls, the bamboo bar and bamboo barstools make the place feel cheesy like Elvis’s Jungle Room in Graceland. At least there is no wall-to-wall green shag carpet or tourists from Arkansas commenting on the class that Elvis had.

  Cute girls wearing tight blouses and miniskirts scurry in and out of the bar, delivering food and drinks.

  “Just a reminder. Everyone has to come inside in an hour. The police come by every night at eleven,” the proprietor announces across the bar with his French accent.

  I take a sip of beer and put the mug down on the blue plastic table.

  “We might as well finish our beer and go inside,” Drew says.

  “Sure, definitely more sights to see inside,” I laugh.

  “Too right. These girls here are better looking than the Carlsberg and Tiger girls at the other bars.”

  I raise my mug at Drew in agreement and down my beer. Drew finishes his beer, and then we walk inside and find a small table across from the bar, against the bamboo-lined wall.

  A petite waitress with shoulder-length dyed brown hair and a dark silky complexion comes to our table and takes our order. We order two more mugs of beer, and she comes back to our table with them.

  “My friend, Ross, is flying here next week from London,” Drew says. “He works at Rolls Royce and knows about their aircraft engines.”

  “Cool,” I reply. “How long will he be here?”

  “A couple of weeks. I’m going to have him talk to my Vietnam Airlines class about Rolls Royce engines, and we’ll go to Dien Bien Phu. You should come along with us.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say and sneak a peek at the petite waitress. Her short legs are well shaped.

  She catches me, and I smile. She smiles back and goes behind the bar.

  “It looks like someone likes you,” Drew laughs.<
br />
  “Who knows? These girls in Hanoi love to flirt.”

  “Too right. They also love to play you off wealthier guys, too,” Drew says getting up from his seat. “Off to the loo.”

  I look around the bar and catch the girl looking at me. I smile again and she smiles and walks to our table.

  “I’m Mike,” I say and smile.

  “I’m Tien,” she says, blushing.

  “How long have you been working here?” I ask, trying not to look at her perky boobs.

  “Two weeks. Since the bar opened. You come here often?”

  “No, it’s my first time,” I answer and look into her soft brown eyes.

  “You have a girlfriend?” she asks and smiles.

  “Nope. I’m single,” I say and shrug my shoulders.

  “Why? You are a handsome man.”

  Now I know she is full of shit. I may be handsome or not. She knows what assets she has, and she knows she has a sucker sitting right here.

  “What are you doing after work?” I ask.

  “I’m going to the Bamboo Bar. You want to meet me there?” She laughs.

  “Sure. What time?”

  “Twelve,” she answers, flashes me a coy look and walks away.

  I chuckle and see Drew on his way back to our table. The Bamboo Bar is a seedy late-night bar near the train bridge in the Old Quarter. It is always full of Western men, rich Vietnamese men and tons of freelance whores working their trade.

  “Were you talking to that girl?” Drew asks as he sits down.

  “Yeah. She’s a freelancer working here to get extra cash while she finds more johns.”

  “You going to be one of her johns?”

  “What choice do I have? She’s already come over to the table and worked it,” I answer and take a sip of beer.

  “I’m not judging you, mate, but what will that accomplish?”

  “Nothing.” I take another sip of beer and swallow. “I’ll go meet her after work and see how much she wants.”

  It’s my last month in Hanoi. Why should I try to change my behavior? All the booze, drugs and sex will be memories, and soon enough I’ll leave Hanoi, traveling to find myself in new places. That’s what I keep telling myself. Who knows if I’ll be able to do it, but I need to try. Or else I’ll end up like all those old European guys in Thailand married out of convenience to a younger woman or married out of convenience to some whore.

  38

  I bid Drew goodnight, and I walk through the Old Quarter past all the rolled-down aluminum shutters protecting the storefronts. The brisk night breeze blows some leaves off the trees. Green and brown water runs along the streets in the open sewers. Random motorbikes zoom by and disappear into the darkness.

  I have no idea why I am headed to the Bamboo Bar. It will end up with me getting drunk and horny, and agreeing to whatever Tien wants. Then I’ll wake up in the morning after a night’s worth of bliss, look at all the images above my writing desk and beat myself up for bringing Tien home with me.

  As I round the corner, bad dance music echoes down the street. The late night train for Sapa chugs by on the bridge over the street. No turning back. I open the door and walk into the Bamboo Bar.

  The khaki crew cut army is here and so are quite a few foreign entrepreneurs clad in dress pants and striped button-down shirts dancing on the dance floor. Vietnamese women of all sizes bounce from guy to guy, making small talk, trying to earn their money for the evening.

  I spot Tien alone at the long bamboo bar and walk up to her.

  “Hey. What are you doing all alone?” I ask.

  “Waiting for you. I knew you would come.” She flashes me a coy smile.

  “What made you think that?” I ask and order a beer from the bartender.

  “You were looking at me when you were in the Tropical Lizard.”

  We both laugh and clank our beer bottles.

  “Cheers!” The cheese I put myself through to have a night with these porcelain-skinned beauties seems limitless. I turn my thoughts elsewhere and check out Tien’s body. It’s petite and compact. No wasted curves at all.

  “So, do you want to take me home?” she asks.

  “Why not?” I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of beer.

  “Good. I need a place to sleep tonight. My roommates and I are fighting.”

  “That’s not good. What happened?” I ask.

  “It’s a long story. We don’t like each other. I want a new room,” Tien says and takes a sip from her beer.

  “How many girls do you share a room with?”

  “Three. They are from the country and they are stupid,” Tien answers, pouting her lips.

  “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Hanoi. My parents died when I was young. I had to work since I was a child.”

  Most girls here in this profession all have similar stories, whether they are from the country or the city. The only difference seems to be if they are supporting their family back home, or if they have been on their own since their youth.

  “Did you always make money off men?” I ask.

  “No. I used to sell flowers and bread, but when I got older, my friend said I can make more money sleeping with men.”

  A person’s fate sometimes is out of their control, especially in a developing country. Social norms and morality are not even a thought. Pure socioeconomic survival is paramount and these girls will do anything not to be homeless.

  I’ve seen it a lot in my time in Hanoi; call me a sucker. I don’t have the heart to turn them away. At least I can be a gentleman for one night and treat them well, as I’m sure they end up in bed with assholes most of the time.

  “How often do you come to the Bamboo Bar?” I ask.

  “Only when I need money. Foreign men pay me well.” Tien smiles.

  “How much do you want from me?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I want to stay with you while I find a new room. Don’t worry I will only need one or two weeks.”

  “Okay. Let’s go,” I say and finish my beer.

  Tien smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

  She’s played me well, and being the sap that I am, I have put up no resistance. All these girls are like love songs. They last for a short lovely time and they disappear. Tien will be no exception, but I have conditioned myself to accept these situations of convenience and make the most of them.

  Who knows? I may write a book about these experiences one day. But until then, I’ll take these codependent opportunities and make the best of them.

  39

  Tien strips off her clothes and leaves them on the white-tiled floor. Her tan body, full of youth and tight, radiates in the dim candlelight of my bedroom. Her pear-shaped breasts and dark brown nipples point forward towards me, defying gravity. Mesmerized, I lie in my bed and stare at her tight round ass, as she turns around and walks to the bathroom.

  I hear her turn on the shower and hear blasts of water hit the bathroom floor. The taxi ride here, full of kisses and gropes, has gotten my dick as hard as I can remember. It’s been a few months since I spent the night with a woman, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform well, so I grab my bowl and take a couple of hits, blowing the smoke down the stairs to the first floor.

  I lie back down on the bed and hear the shower turn off. Tien opens the door and walks into my bedroom with one of my red towels wrapped around her torso.

  “What’s that smell? Did you smoke something?” Tien asks.

  “Yeah. I was smoking,” I answer afraid to say it was pot.

  “It smells like marijuana. Did you smoke marijuana?”

  Busted. I answer, “Yep. Would you like some?”

  “Yes.” Tien gives me a coy smile, and I pack a few buds in the bowl for her.

  “You’re the first Vietnamese woman I’ve met who smokes,” I say.

  “I used to smoke with a French man. He go back to France. Now, no more.” Tien takes a hit and blows the smoke in my face.

  We lo
ck eyes and Tien falls onto my bed. I can’t tell if she likes me or is faking it. It doesn’t matter. We’ve made our deal and we’ll have our love song.

  Ride’s “Seagull” plays on my stereo, an homage to my twenties when I was in San Francisco, engaged and in love.

  “You gave me things I’d never seen. You made my life a waking dream.” The reverberated echoing guitars swirl around the room as I kiss Tien.

  “Falling like ashes to the floor.” We lock lips and my hands soon find their way caressing her breasts. Her brown nipples are hard in my hands. Her back arched, either enjoying it or feigning it, I kiss and lick her breasts and slide my tongue down to her vagina.

  The cacophony of guitars gives way to the upbeat opening of “Kaleidoscope.” Her vagina is wet, and I try not to think about how many other guys have been down here.

  Her body convulses and twists and turns as she moans loudly. My little actress is working her way to an Academy Award.

  I keep licking her clit and playing with her pussy. Her black pubic hair forms a nice silky triangle. I turn my attention back to her breasts, and Tien grabs my cock, slowly stroking and petting it.

  “You got condoms?” she asks.

  Not the most romantic way to say she’s ready, but an invitation is an invitation, and I walk over to my nightstand and grab a condom.

  “Give it to me,” Tien says.

  I hand her the condom, and she goes down on me. Her tongue caresses my dick as she bobs her mouth up and down its shaft.

  I can’t take much more. I squeeze her arm, and she opens the condom and slides it onto my cock.

  She smiles and guides my cock into her pussy, and the ritual dance begins. Her pussy is wet and tight as I thrust in and out, changing speeds in a circular motion.

  Her moaning grows louder and she bites her lips. Beads of sweat run down our backs, and not wanting to blow my load too soon, I pull out and position Tien on her hands and knees.