Dave had been sleeping terribly. He kept waking up in a cold sweat every five minutes. In reality, he hadn’t had a full night of sleep for a week—not since the exact moment he received the email from his company stating his services were no longer required.
He had savings, sure, but burning through a cash reserve without an active income in Pattaya is a terrifying, ticking time bomb. If he didn’t find a job soon, he’d be broke within a year. And finding legitimate corporate work as a foreigner in this city is about as easy as finding snow on Beach Road.
He woke up with another jolt. There was a strange rustling sound near the closet.
He looked over. Ploy was aggressively folding clothes and throwing them into a suitcase.
Dave leaped out of bed. “What happened?”
“I am leaving,” Ploy replied, her voice absolute ice. “I know everything. You lied to me.”
Dave’s heart dropped into his stomach. First the job, now Ploy. Everything was collapsing at once.
“Ploy, wait! I will find a job, it’s not a problem! I have some savings, we will survive this…”
“What job, Dave?” she interrupted, launching into her tirade. “I know you cheated on me!”
Oh, sweet Jesus, Dave thought. How did she find out?
His mind raced back to Mike’s traditional weekend BBQ. They had gotten entirely too drunk, and Mike had dragged him to a “special massage” parlor. Technically, Dave tried to justify to himself, it wasn’t technically cheating in the traditional sense, because Mike had casually mentioned later that Dave’s masseuse—along with the entire staff of the building—was a ladyboy.
He swallowed hard. “Ploy, this is a mistake. A massive misunderstanding…”
Ploy wasn’t listening. She crossed her arms. “Yesterday I went to the market. The fortune teller told me you have someone else. And last night? I dreamed about a snake. Everything matches. It means you cheated!”
She burst into tears.
Dave exhaled the longest sigh of relief of his life. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her ear, “Everything is going to be okay, Ploy. I will find a job.” Comforted by the lack of actual evidence, they went back to sleep.
Dave woke up a few hours later. The sun was high; it was already noon. Ploy was sitting at the mirror, meticulously applying heavy makeup.
“Where are you going, Ploy?”
“Dave, you know I love you,” she said, blending her foundation. “I am going to get a job to help you.”
“A job where?” Dave asked, suddenly wide awake, eyeing her unusually short dress and bright lipstick.
“I have an interview at a real estate agency today at 1 PM. Can you drive me?”
An hour later, Dave was sitting in his car in the parking lot, chewing his fingernails. A real estate agency isn’t so bad, he told himself. It’s professional.
The doors opened, and Ploy practically skipped to the car, beaming. She got in.
“How did it go?” Dave asked.
“It was perfect, Dave! I got the job!” she clapped her hands. “The salary isn’t huge, but they offered me the role of Personal Assistant to the boss. He is a young foreigner. I will get lots of bonuses, and I get to go on business trips with him!”
Dave gripped the steering wheel so hard the plastic actually started to crack.
“Let’s… let’s keep looking for something else, Ploy.”
Later that evening, Dave was aggressively refreshing LinkedIn for the 43rd time that day. Ploy was rapid-fire texting someone on LINE.
She locked her phone. “Dave! I talked to my aunt. She can help us. Her bar needs a cashier. I can go work there. The base salary is small, but my aunt says with lady drinks I can easily make 30,000 baht a month! Not bad, right?”
“NO,” Dave said, maintaining eye contact as he refreshed LinkedIn for the 44th time.
By the next morning, Ploy had switched tactics. If she couldn’t work, she was going to be Dave’s headhunter. Using her vast and highly questionable network, she sat cross-legged on the floor with a notebook, making endless phone calls.
“Oh, Dave, look!” she pointed at her phone. “They need a tour seller! You were in sales, this is perfect for you!”
Dave rubbed his temples. “Ploy, I sold B2B CRM systems for corporate enterprises. That is not the same thing as selling island snorkeling tours to Russians on the street.”
Ploy ignored him and went back to her phone call. “Yes, my boyfriend is looking for a job. What languages? Well, he speaks okay English…” She covered the microphone and looked up. “Dave, you speak good English, right?”
Dave stared at the ceiling. “Ploy. I was born in an English-speaking country. Yes, I speak okay English.”
“Yes, he speaks okay English,” she repeated into the phone. She paused. “Dave, do you know Chinese?”
Dave buried his face in his hands. “Ploy, we have time and we have money. We do not need to rush this.”
That evening, Ploy sat next to Dave on the sofa and shoved her phone into his face.
The screen showed a video of a dark club. Muscular guys in aggressively short shorts with numbers pinned to their bare chests were dancing on a stage, while a room full of screaming women pointed at them.
“What is this? Why are you showing me this?” Dave asked, horrified.
“It’s a host bar, Dave! Women buy drinks for the guys and pay them for their time. My friend is the owner. She said they want to try adding a foreigner to the lineup. I told her you are unemployed, not too old yet, and in decent shape. You can try it!”
“Ploy, are you seriously trying to pimp me out to other women?!”
“Well, Dave, it’s better than being poor!” she argued logically. “We have car payments, we have rent… and what if we decide to get married? If we are broke, I can’t send money to my family. And if I can’t help my family, then I have to go work as a cashier at my aunt’s bar.”
“Over my dead body,” Dave growled. “I will find a job.”
The next morning, Dave’s phone rang. It was Mike.
“Dave, mate, how’s the job hunt?” Mike asked. “Listen, a manager spot just opened up at my office. The money isn’t crazy—about $1,500 a month—but we cover the visa and the work permit. You interested?”
Dave could have kissed him. “I’ll take it.”
He hung up the phone and looked at Ploy with the triumphant, victorious gaze of a man who just conquered the world.
“I found a job, baby,” Dave said, leaning back. “Don’t even think about working.”
Ploy squealed with joy, jumped onto the sofa, and threw her arms around his neck.
Then, she pulled back. Her smile slowly faded. Her gaze locked onto Dave’s eyes, suddenly transforming into the cold, unblinking stare of a boa constrictor sizing up a rabbit.
“Good,” she said softly. “Then since you don’t want me to work… you are coming with me to the market today to see the fortune teller. I need to make absolutely sure you didn’t cheat on me.”
Dave froze.
He thought about the new job. He thought about the snake dream. And then, he thought about the ladyboy massage.
“Get your shoes, Dave,” Ploy said, tossing him his keys. “The spirits never lie.”
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