Thomas and I walked down a Lan Kwai Fong alley on our way to meet Insky. Aside from a cocaine buzz, we were in high spirits since we were to meet Inksy’s ex-girlfriend, Hillary, and her four friends, who were stopping in Hong Kong on the way to China. The ratio was favorable, the girls were on vacation, and what’s more Thomas had brought plenty of coke, grass, and ecstasy - this didn’t even include my eight ball, which bulged comfortably in the pocket of my jeans.

We emerged into a flagstone courtyard framed by buildings stretching up into the darkness; picnic tables stood among large potted plants, and to one side was the bar, a single-story glass house with an awning from which hung big leafy ferns. Inside, we found Inksy at a rear booth with the five chicks.

Although it was Saturday Inksy wore his suit – Thomas had told him that it would jeopardize their cover, wearing a suit to fill orders on a weekend, but Inksy, keen to impress Hillary, had defied him, and hence spent the afternoon running around sweating like a fucker. As we approached I picked out a pert blonde with bangs. I held her gaze until I had to turn to shake the hand of Inksy, who rose to greet us, clearly delighted at being with so many women.

"This is Hillary," he said, gesturing to a large, florid woman with buck teeth.

"Hi Jake, Robert’s told me all about you."

"Awesome." I wondered what on earth he’d told her.

She was not at all to my liking, nor were the others except for the blonde, who was like a diamond in the dirt. Seated beside Hillary was a rat-thin one whose red hair was gelled into an solid helmet, then came the serene, beautiful blonde, then an enormous pale grinning one, and last a passable brunette who, on second thought, would do nicely should things go awry with the blonde.

Introductions were made; I forgot every name (even the blonde’s, annoyingly) the instant after it was spoken. They pressed together to accommodate us. Thomas jumped in beside the brunette, leaving no space for me, and there were no chairs around. Even if there were one it would have been damn uncomfortable because the space available for it was narrow, and several people had already squeezed by on the way to the toilets.

"Last man standing gets the drinks," said Insky.

"Hear hear," said Thomas.

Shit. "What can I get everyone?" I said.

And so started a 25 minute ordeal that was to ruin my chances with the blonde. Thomas and Inksy wanted beers, which was fine, but all five girls asked for different drinks – rather, different, exotic drinks: 1 Mai-Tai, 1 Long-Island iced tea, 1 Kailua Mama, 1 Sea Breeze, and for the blonde, 1 Lychee Margarita: "Non-Frozen, non-frozen," she insisted.

After shouldering up to the bar it took several minutes to get the attention of the frantic Chinese barman. His jaw dropped steadily as my order droned on; he insisted I write it on a coaster with a cheap plastic pen, which worked poorly and leaked black ink onto my fingers. While I struggled with this he filled a group of drunk English rugby thugs’ order for 10 pints of Kilkenny.

Eventually the idiot took my order. He only managed one drink every two or three minutes, pouring each measure exactly, oblivious to the mob. When he finished one I would ferry it back to the table where it was received with a curt thank you, before the recipient delved back into conversation, and I retreated as if some sort of fucking servant.

When the last drink (the margarita) arrived I took it to the table, served it to the blonde, and returned to sign the bill, which came to over HK$600 - about US$75. By the time I returned with my beer I was damn annoyed. My nice cocaine buzz had all but vanished.

"We all set?" I said, forcing a grin.

"This isn’t what I ordered," said the blonde, pointing to her US$12 margarita.

"Don’t be silly, Pippa, just drink it," said the one beside Inksy – Hillary, I remembered.

"But if I drink a frozen one I’ll get a headache."

"Then enjoy your headache," I said, raising my glass.

A silence fell. The helmet redhead raised her Kailua Mama to hide a grin, while I glared at the blonde, realizing I’d just blown it.

"Hey, just kidding, let me get you a new one."

"No, no I’ll drink it, this will be fine."

"C’mon, it’s all right."

"No, no. Not at all. This is fine." With a flick of her hair she turned and began talking to the fat one.

Fine, bitch.

"Let’s make a spot for Jake," said Inksy.

Some pressing and shuffling exposed a spot of cushion. Only half my ass fit, and Inksy’s hot, suited bulk walled me in on the left. I could have talked to Thomas and the Brunette sitting opposite, but Thomas, coked up, was lecturing her about the Kennedy conspiracy and neither looked over. When I ventured a remark about conspiracies generally being nonsense, they only cast a withering look before returning to Thomas’s monologue. So I sat silent and alone, my beer running low, the bathroom traffic looking at me with, I fancied, both pity and amusement.

I knew things were improving, though, when Inksy tapped my leg. I reached under the table and into my cupped hand he dropped an E.

"Everyone ready?" said Thomas.

"Let’s do it then," said Inksy.

And do it we did, washing it down with our varied drinks. I felt better right away: not so much because of the pill itself, which would take time to hit, but just the idea beautiful chemicals were again flowing to my brain.

The girls soon decided it was time to dance. Rising I saw Pippa’s margarita was melting un-drunk on the table. I was tempted to ask if she’d enjoyed it, but her sharp glance stayed me; furthermore, frustration filled me (it had been over 48 hours since the whore) when up close I saw the way her leather skirt hugged her tight, g-stringed ass.

Inksy bulldozed a path out into Lan Kwai Fong. The people and traffic made it impossible to walk side-by-side, so I shuffled along a few feet behind Pippa. Only when we turned left up Lyndhurst did I come up beside her. "Kinda hot," I said.

"Yes."

"Is this your first time out in Asia?"

"No."

"Really? Where else have you…"

"Sorry, I’m just gagging for a fag. Sarah, luv, do you have a fag?" She trotted ahead to the fat one. The brunette was well ahead and still enraptured with Thomas’s rubbish. Only the helmet redhead walked aloof, sucking her cigarette so intently she didn’t bother to take it from her mouth when she exhaled.

Before long we came to an ordinary concrete apartment block and rode a steel-walled lift to a bright, pink-tiled lobby on the 18^th floor. To one side were plants and somebody’s front door, to the other was a heavy, padded door from which throbbed heavy bass; when Inksy opened it the sound hit us like a wall. The club was a simple, open space consisting of a dance floor ringed by raised couches and a bar that doubled as a DJ station. There was no one else there; the girls and Inksy took to the empty dance floor.

Thomas and I, however, had things to do. We went into the one of the joints’ unisex toilets where he produced a cosmetics mirror and a packet of cocaine. "Got your knife?" he said.

I handed him my Swiss Army key chain. He cut four ropes and we snorted them with a US$100 bill he kept just for that purpose. When we finished he reached up and hid the mirror atop the toilet tank.

On the dance floor I found Pippa dancing with the fat one; when I tried to make a third they turned and danced off in separate directions. They were instantly replaced by the redhead, who danced close to me with her damn lit cigarette clamped firmly in her lips, her hollow cheeks imploding when the cigarette glowed, and puffing out slightly whenever she released a noxious cloud of smoke, which was annoyingly often; already my lungs were tightening, and I’d only used my inhaler an hour before.

I twirled and danced off towards Pippa, who again danced away, to be replaced yet again by the redhead. I stayed with her a few minutes (mustn’t seem to obvious about things) but could only stare at Pippa, now dancing with Thomas. She wrapped her arms around him and they started dancing close together.

It wasn’t much fun watching the two of them so I was thankful when my mobile vibrated in my pocket. I held it up to the redhead, shrugged, and went up to the roof, a quiet place furnished with the cheap plastic furniture one finds at swimming pools. All about Hong Kong’s bright skyscrapers groped upwards.

The caller was Carsolita. I thought of killing the call, but I’d screened here three times that day and was starting to wonder what the fuck she wanted. "Hey Carsolita! How you been?"

"Jake! I’ve been trying so hard to call you, I have big news."

"Great! A new account? Who is it? I’ve been very busy, that’s why I haven’t called. You’ve heard about the JV, right? It’s a big promotion for me. How’s Dickie?"

"What’s JV?"

"With Hootens."

"What’s JV?" she repeated.

"A joint venture is when two companies team up to better fuck people over. I’m now the big, big boss of Hootens too."

"Really? What about that bitch Alicia?"

"She works for me now. What can I do for you? I’ve been trying to call you back, but you’re line is always busy."

"But everyone else can call me."

"Humph, might be something with my phone, I’ll call the phone company."

"Jake, can you help me?"

"H’m…sure."

"Do you promise?"

"What is it first?"

"I’m pregnant."

I’d never slept with her, but a jolt of fear hit me anyway: my mind raced through the times I’d been with her recently. Was she about to accuse me of rape or something?

"That’s…awesome, Carsolita. Great…but what does it have to do with me? We’ve never slept together, so you know its not my kid, right?"

"I know we never sleep together! Not your baby!"

"Who’s the lucky dad?" Poor bastard.

She paused. I looked down a few floors into an apartment where two boys in pajamas played a video game in the flickering glow of a TV. All kids in Hong Kong (or anywhere, for that matter) seemed to do was play video games and watch TV until they were old enough to get into drugs. What was the point of it all?

"I can’t tell you the daddy," she said.

"Well, okay…congratulations then, good luck with it. I hope it doesn’t affect your work."

"Okay, I tell you the daddy, but you must promise to help."

An intuition hit me: "Is it Orson?"

Her quick intake of breath confirmed it. The idiot! As if his orphanage load of bastards wasn’t already enough. "Does he know?" I continued.

"He say if I get pregnant he fire me and make me go home to Manila, and I have no work permit for Hong Kong."

"He wouldn’t do that. He’s a good guy, like me."

"Jake! You don’t know Orson, he very bad man. He always nice to you because you work Card Wainright, but he make baby with many girl and then leave them. Very bad man! I don’t want to sleep with him but he make me. He say he fire me if I don’t fuck him, and I have no work permit for Hong Kong. No work permit, Jake!"

"Didn’t he use a condom?"

"He say he no like condom. Very bad man! Not like you Jake, you’re a good man. A very good man."

I collapsed into a chair and stared up through the midlevels to the peak’s tiara of light. I’d done a fair amount of womanizing, and was uncritical towards Orson on that score - although I generally preferred women to sleep with me by their own choice. What angered me was that Orson had done this with someone involved with building my nest egg in the Philippines, possibly delaying my plans for early-retirement, the last thing I needed now that the bloody joint venture had come about. "Don’t tell Orson a thing and get an abortion," I said. "I’ll pay for it."

She began shrieking about being a Catholic, which I found difficult to reconcile with the knowledge she had bedded dozens, maybe hundreds, of men during her bargirl days. Wasn’t there something in The Bible forbidding sex? And how could Moses, Mary, Jesus & Co. have outlawed abortion before it was invented? If one was condemned to an eternity in The Fires of Hell for having sex, what difference did an abortion make? 100 abortions? "Carsolita, don’t be stupid. The bible says fuck all about abortion."

This got her even more worked up. She made it clear she wouldn’t have an abortion under any circumstances, and wanted Orson to grant her full wife status along with whatever financial benefits that entailed. What’s more, I was supposed to somehow help her achieve this.

"Carsolita…hey, my battery is dying. I don’t think…" I switched my phone off and returned it to my pocket. I could deal, or more likely avoid dealing with her, on Monday.

I returned downstairs and the night deteriorated into a drugged and drunken medley: marches up to the roof to smoke grass and drink icy bottles of beer; snorting cocaine in the toilet with various combinations of the others; dropping a second and third E; dancing, dancing, dancing; and then, at some point, accidentally dropping my key chain and a few lines of coke into the toilet, which everyone, including me, found immensely funny, especially when Inksy flushed, sending them out to the harbor. The only constant was the redhead, who hovered close, followed everywhere, and when dancing demonstrated an alarming habit of running her hands down my stomach and grabbing my crotch – which became considerably more pleasant as the evening wore on. All the while the club became more and more crowded with people tripping on E.

At some point I decided to go upstairs for a joint. When I opened the door I was staggered back by a flood of midday sunshine. Shielding my eyes I saw the place was empty except for a drunk in a tuxedo sleeping next to a puddle of vomit. It occurred to me then that I’d not seen any of our group but the redhead for a while; I’d assumed they were on the roof. I retreated downstairs, where it was as loud and dark as ever. I found the redhead dancing alone.

"Where did everyone go?" I shouted.

"Breakfast!"

"Why didn’t they tell us?"

"You weren’t here! I said we’d follow them!"

"Where’d they go?"

"I don’t know!"

I went back to the roof and tried Thomas’s and Inksy’s mobiles: both went straight to voicemail. At this point the redhead emerged, smoking. "Gawd it’s bright," she said.

"It’s Sunday."

"Do you feel like dancing anymore?" She patted her hair-helmet.

"Not really."

"Do you want to come back to my hotel?"

In spite of her aggressiveness throughout the night, the proposal surprised me.

"Where are you staying?"

"Nam Kok. I’ve got a great view of the harbor - and whisky."

The idea of clean hotel sheets, a strong hot water shower, followed by a soothing whisky seemed like a good one. "Why not."

She seized my hand as if to prevent second thoughts, threw her cigarette into the drunk’s vomit, and led me to the elevator. I followed with mixed feelings: in full daylight she was a beast, not at all of the same standard as Ai Lin and Imelda, but she was only in town for a few days and I need not see her again; besides, my keys were in the harbor, and my spare set was in the office, which I couldn’t get into as the office key was in the harbor too.

At the Nam Kok, a featureless tourist hotel, I found she’d deceived me about the view, for only by pressing the side of my head against the window was I able to see a sliver of harbor beyond the menacing Immigration Tower. In the room there was a double bed, a tiny night table bolted to the wall, a hard cushioned bench, and a TV that was too big for the room. From the street below came the sound of traffic. The room reeked of stale smoke.

Thankfully she’d been truthful about the whisky; after I collapsed on the bed, which felt delightfully fresh and clean after the filthy bedclothes at home, she shoved a large glass of the stuff into my hand. I took a few swigs and lay back on the pillow, wondering how she’d kick things off, although I was more interested in resting than doing anything immediately. I heard the shower start and I dozed off.

The next thing I knew the room was pitch black and she was gnawing my neck and running her hands all over my tackle through my open fly. I became very erect, thankful the blackout shades were drawn against the day, hiding her. As she was biting very hard I made rough myself with an aim to getting to the end of it quickly. I grabbed the hair at the back of her head, lifted her off me (she was all bones and very light), and pressed her face into the pillow. "Gawd you’re so rough…it’s wonderful…I love it," she muttered.

Hearing this, I pushed down even harder, lifted the hem of her bathrobe above her waist, and – pretending in the darkness she was Pippa – slapped her bottom a few times before plowing into her. Within seconds I came all over her rear-end, before collapsing, spent, beside her. I rolled away from her and closed my eyes.

"Is that all?" she said.

"Yep, that was great. Thanks."

"Just like that? So fast?"

I struggled for her name; I knew it wasn’t Pippa, so I said nothing.

Later the telephone awoke us. As the redhead clambered over me I glanced at the clock and saw it was 8:00 p.m.

She spoke with somebody for a few seconds, and then asked if I knew someplace for dinner.

I realized I was starving. "You like Mongolian? All you can eat? I know a place just around the corner."

She turned the lights on and we got ready; I preferred her in the darkness and avoided looking at her. In the lobby we found Pippa and the fat one. The redhead grabbed my hand as we approached them, anxious to display her trophy, which, of course, would further erode whatever slim chance I still had with the delectable Pippa, in a pair of jeans and with her blonde hair up in a pigtail.

At dinner – an orgy of rice, spices, meat and vegetables – the other two talked about their afternoon shopping run to Tsim Sha Tsui and kept smirking at the two of us, for the redhead continued to keep physical contact with me at all times: walking to the restaurant, standing on the buffet line, sitting at the table, etc. She seemed quite pleased with herself, but every stroke of her thin, cold fingers was an electric reminder I’d never sleep with Pippa, though she sat just feet away, clearly amused that a handsome fellow like me would sleep with her wretched friend.

After eating I decided to go home. When I tried calling Thomas and Inksy I found their mobiles were still off and the house phone didn’t pick up. Reluctant to travel home and up seven flights of stairs to find nobody there, I decided to stay with the girls for a few drinks in Wanchai. This turned into a major drinking session (fuelled by the last lines of my cocaine) that saw us return to the Nam Kok at 4:30 a.m. Monday morning. I made a drunken last ditch pounce on Pippa in the hotel lobby, but the redhead dragged me back to her room, where she made a spirited attempt to rape me. My virtue was only saved by a quick descent into drunken unconsciousness.

Home             Articles            Freelance Work        Hong Kong Days            Write To Jake Stratton