It is a flawless Pattaya evening. Paul, 54, sits at a prime table on the Hilton rooftop, gazing out at the spectacular panoramic view of the bay. But the real prize is sitting right across from him: Ing, 32.
Paul feels like an absolute winner. He hasn’t just beaten the industry; he has defeated a hundred other potential sponsors. Why Ing? Because she is stunning, a fantastic companion, and an incredible lover. Sure, her past isn’t exactly spotless, but Paul is going to erase all of that. He is a victor, a savior, the man who promised to take care of her, her family, and her child for the rest of their lives.
Tonight is the celebration of their “new, clean life” together. Paul had assured her that the past is the past and he would never look down on her. Ing has just finished taking a hundred photos and recording four Reels of the food and the view. She sets her phone face-up on the table.
Paul picks up his glass of wine to make a toast. He clears his throat. “Ing, to our new…“
At that exact second, the phone screen lights up. A massive banner notification from ThaiFriendly flashes across the glass:
“Hey baby 2000 ST?”
Paul’s face instantly turns crimson.
“Ing… we had a deal. You told me you deleted all those profiles and were starting a new life!”
Ing blinks, momentarily taken aback. “I deleted everything just like you asked! I don’t know where this is coming from. I don’t use this app anymore, I promised it’s only you…”
But Paul’s ego is already fractured. “Why are random men still messaging you?! You lied to me! You are still a prostitute!”
His voice cracks into a yell, loud enough that the ambient lounge music seems to fade. The entire rooftop restaurant goes dead silent, every head turning toward their table.
Ing doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream back. Instead, her voice drops to a calm, ice-cold register.
“Okay, Paul. I have lost my appetite.”
She stands up and walks away from the table, leaving him sitting there with his raised wine glass. She steps out of the luxury hotel onto the humid street, not entirely sure where she is going. A familiar motorbike taxi driver pulls up.
“Hey Ing, going to work? Let me give you a ride, you’re running late.”
She nods reflexively, climbs onto the back of the bike, and stares blankly at the passing neon lights. Her mind drifts back six years. Another foreigner. Another “savior.” He had pulled her out of the industry, set her up in a nice house over in the Darkside, paid her two months’ salary in advance, and flew to Europe for a business trip. He simply never came back. It turned out the rent on the house was already two months in arrears, and Ing was left holding the bag.
And now, Paul. A man who publicly screams at her and calls her a prostitute over an automated app notification. Relying on a farang’s promises is a luxury she can no longer afford.
The motorbike stops. She snaps out of her thoughts. She is standing right in front of her old go-go bar.
“30 baht,” the driver says, holding out his hand. She pays him and walks through the heavy black curtains.
The Mamasan spots her instantly and wraps her in a tight hug.
“Hey Ing! Are you coming back to work tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Ing replies flatly.
“Excellent,” the Mamasan smirks. “These young girls don’t understand how to work anyway. Your number is 345.” She jots it down in her notebook.
At that moment, a new customer walks through the door, looking lost. Ing immediately steps forward, seamlessly grabbing him by the elbow with a perfect, radiant smile.
“Hi teerak… buy me a drink?”
Meanwhile, on Soi 13/2, Paul pushes open the glass door of a massage parlor and steps out into the sticky night air, adjusting his belt. He had come straight here to relieve the stress of the Hilton incident.
As he walks down the alley, a smug sense of satisfaction washes over him.
“Good thing that notification popped up when it did,” he thinks to himself. “I almost became a laughingstock keeping a prostitute under my roof.”
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