One Night in Bangkok

Bangkok’s Premier Night Club- the Q Bar

Walk down Soi 11 and you’ll find two of the premiere clubs in Bangkok. The trendy clubs where passports are needed to gain entry.
The Q Bar, just around the corner, which tonight has contracted DJ Marky from Sao Paolo, Brazil to play their venue. It’s 800 baht ($26) to get in, not cheap by any standards, much less Bangkok. The deal does however include two drinks which takes some of sting out of the price. “DJ Marky costs,” the manager tells me, “We’ve got to pay for him.”

Upstairs at the trendy Q bar in Bangkok

Looking around, there’s no surprise, the majority of gents here are foreign, with a smattering of their European girlfriends, the rest are Thai women. Some are here just to party and have a great time, some are here looking for work; the talent is pretty choice.

I get on the dance floor and just express, having fun. A half hour later, DJ Marky steps behind the turn-table and starts spinning. I have little idea what qualifies a DJ as outstanding, but I have the feeling he’s pretty damn good, and the reaction of the crowd jumping up and down backs this assertion. I groove to the sounds he’s creating, and as I watch his perfectly timed actions, begin to understand the skill and amount of practice it must take to excel in his profession.

DJ Marky- from Sao Paolo, Brazil in Bangkok

The Night Begins

At 2 AM Q Bar shuts down according to the law. I’ve ignored all the working girls, as well as a few that might have not been who gave me the thumbs up sign, and begin walking home. I pass by Levels and watching the trendily dressed foreigners and Bangkok elite exit. I look up and make eye contact with a Super Hottie standing on the balcony above. She’s dressed in white pumps and a light green mini-skirt, cut low enough to show her beautiful natural breasts. She has to be amongst the best looking girls I’ve seen in Bangkok.

“Hey cutie, are you the right guy for me?” she calls out.

I have to see where this leads. “Maybe,” I reply.

She walks down the ramp, and attaches herself to my arm.

“We’re going to go get something to eat, you come with us.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me, and my friends.”

She points, I glance over and see two other girls dressed to the nines with two older guys, in their late forties, maybe fifties. I’m in the mood for adventure, and agree.

Apparently my girl had been harassed by a couple guys earlier in the evening. “I’m leaving with my boyfriend,” she states, her arm wrapped around me, almost taunting them. Both the guys are huge, what have I gotten myself into?

As if on queue a valet pulls up in a new Mercedes. The German guy jumps behind the wheel, accompanied by his woman riding shotgun. There’s not enough room for four in the back, so Super Hottie sits in my lap. Beside her is her friend, and then a bald headed muscular American, (especially for being 50) who just won’t shut-up.

“I’ve been cast in a Viking movie shooting here in Bangkok,” he tells me. He’s been cast as the “King.”

“I did a reading for a smaller part, and the director told me, ‘You’re not getting this part, I have a much bigger part for you.' ”
I had no idea I had taken a plane home to Los Angeles.
“Great,” I respond.

Next he starts talking about real estate, and how much land he has bought and sold, how easy it is to make money in the profession. Meanwhile Super Hottie is grinding into my lap, teasing me, doing her “best” to keep my attention, which veers to her, angering the King.

His voice raises in anger. “I don’t get it, you have the opportunity to learn from a guy who’s made multi-millions in real estate, and you’re paying attention to everything else.”

“There are some distractions here man,” I state, thankful that there’s another girl acting as a buffer between us.

“That’s bullshit!” yells the King violently, “That’s just perennial background noise you’re letting distract you.”

I look around, the girls are seemingly too drunk to be fazed by his outburst. I look around, we’re in a major traffic jam at 2:30 AM, highly unusual, but I still have no idea where we are in the city. I’d just jump out and find a cab, if not for Super Hottie ...

Next the King starts talking about his former career as an elite special forces officer in the military, continuing by telling me that China is absolutely inferior militarily to the U.S., that their equipment is shoddy. “What, you think we let them have the good stuff?” he asks with a strong note of sarcasm.

“I still wouldn’t really want to tangle with them,” I offer.

“You don’t know how the world works! You don’t know ex-top KGB agents like I do. I worked on a movie with Jean Clause Van-Damme! You don’t know what goes on behind the scenes. You know nothing.”

Behind the scenes of what, world espionage or film making? Maybe I’m in a movie right now, or some kind of candid camera reality TV Show. Super Hottie wriggles in my lap ... so maybe that’s why she’s sitting there.

I’m actually getting excited to hear what’s going to come out of his mouth next … which is the fact that he’s also a krav-maga expert, and went through the course with the ultimate master faster than anyone in history.

I’m dead serious when I say this, I’m going out of my way not to insult this guy, not necessarily because I believe a word that's coming out of his mouth, but because he has the ego that would love the opportunity to prove itself if met with anything but rose petals laid before its feet.

“Wow, that’s very impressive,” I reply, hoping we arrive at our destination, and quickly.

“Fuck this traffic, maybe you should just drop me off at Nana Plaza, and I’ll pick-up a girl,” he states with frustration, then adding,“You know I’ve probably boom-boomed 2,000 girls in the last six years I’ve lived here,” he offers, “I’ve gone through so much money.”

I’m not that uncomfortable, I’m playing along, but I am glad when we finally pass the road block (an accident) and speed to our destination.

The six of us sit around a table, me as far away his Highness as possible. Course after course of Thai Food arrive at 3:30 AM, the majority of it being consumed by the King. Beef, a whole crab, pork, soup, and an entire fish, he downs it all, the rest of us nibbling like mice in comparison. The food’s absolutely delectable, and I imagine the bill at this late hour will be too.

At last finished with his feast, the King lets out a contented sigh and speaks in surprisingly good Thai, which I translated as, “The food was excellent, and I’m full. Now let’s talk about how great I am.”

Super Hottie looks at him, and says, with a straight face, but obviously kidding, “I don’t like it when foreigners speak in Thai.”

And the King takes it in and absorbs the statement, his face grows red with anger. Disrespect in his court. Oh fuck, please don’t strike her …

The King’s body convulses. “I need to speak Thai dammit!” stupidity and ego clouding the obvious, that if she didn’t mean it as a joke then she has her own problems. “I have a Thai daughter, and I need to speak Thai to her! … I don’t like the fact that you said that …” his face becoming swollen with red anger, “In fact, I don’t even want to be here anywhere near you! I’m leaving!”

And he gets up, and storms away, leaving everyone at the table in speechless.

“I was joking,” she explains, needlessly defending herself as everyone else already understood, only one us the least bit annoyed by the ramifications of her actions.

 “Why are you shaking your head?” Supper Hottie asks me.

“Couldn’t you have at least waited til he chipped in for the bill?”