City Stained Rouge
“Sorry,” she replied, shaking her head, “But I don’t know who Picasso is.”
“O-K… Well…”
Franck beckoned to Borana – the mama-san – and pointed at their empty glasses.
“One more for the lady,” he said, “And another double vodka and soda.”
“Are you sure?” asked Borana.
“Yes…”
Franck knew what Borana meant, but he didn’t care. The last time he’d been there, he’d only pushed that old prick over. Nothing else. Yes, he had been drunk, but that old pervert had been asking for it. He had nothing to say sorry for.
“Well,” Borana shrugged, “If you’re sure, and you’ve got the money to pay for it, then I guess that makes it alright then, doesn’t it?”
It did.
After a heavy session at Dodger’s, the pool hall, Franck didn’t need to drink any more. But what else was there to do in Phnom Penh? Go to the genocide museum? Go to the old torture chambers? Go to the mass graves? Go and fire a frigging rocket-launcher?
Franck shook his head and took a ten out of his wallet.
No. Drinking was the only thing that this city was good for. And after all it had put him through, it was the only thing that was keeping him sane.
Taking his money, Borana turned to fetch Franck his order, muttering something about ‘crazy drunk foreigner’ under her breath. A throwaway comment, but one that Franck caught, and would have hurled straight back at the sour-faced old cow, if it hadn’t have been for Shreyline placing her hand on his.
“Thank you,” she smiled, kissing him on the cheek, “Love you baby.”
“Yes…”
Franck knew it was an act, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Shreyline may not have been the most intelligent woman he’d ever met, or the best conversation either, but she had a good heart. So, for tonight, at least, he would perform his part in the way that she expected him to. Telling Shreyline how he really felt would only cause a scene. And after the one in the pool hall earlier, Franck was in no mood for another. Leaning towards her, he kissed Shreyline and smiled.
“Love you too baby.”
He’d been sleeping with Shreyline for just over two months now. And, at best, Franck gave their ‘relationship’ two more months again. It wasn’t that Franck didn’t like her. He did. It was just that he didn’t like her that much. And with with him heading back to France in less than three months time, when his contract there had finished, Franck saw no future in it anyway. Especially as Shreyline’s five year contract didn’t belong to her but to the owner of Papayas.
Franck may have been leaving but Shreyline wasn’t going anywhere.
“…But it’s not that much baby, really, it’s not …”
He didn’t care how much it was, or how heavy and constant her hints had been. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to buy Shreyline out of her contract with the bar.
Buying her drinks? Sure, that was fine. That was her job – to sit with the customers and charm them into buying her expensive ‘girlie drinks’, from which she earned a very small commission. But paying for her to be with him? No chance. Shreyline slept with him, and only him, because she wanted to. Money had nothing to do with it. Franck had never paid Shreyline so much as a riel, and he wasn’t about to start.
Picking up his vodka, Franck looked around the bar.
Small and dirty, its red faux-leather booths and its aluminium tables were filled and surrounded, as they always were, with the other girls who worked there full-time, and a dozen or so freelancers, who came and went as they pleased.
Franck had no problem with them. None at all. It was the men they were drinking with, who he couldn’t stand. Much older men. Men who were in Papayas, night after night. Men who came to get the girls drunk. Men who came there to pay them for something that, in all his forty-two years, he had never once had to, or had even once considered.
“Fucking sex-pats,” growled Franck, taking a long hit from his glass.
If it hadn’t have been for Jacques; the only true friend he had there, Franck would never have gone to the bar in the first place.
“…Yes, I know you don’t like girlie bars, but I have to go to Papayas, I don’t have any choice Franck. And, no, before you ask, I am not going to tell you why. Let’s just say that I’ve been paid to find somebody, alright?”
It was. And knowing what his friend Jacques did for a living, Franck hadn’t asked him any questions. He’d just sat down on a stool to the left of the bar and ordered a vodka. But when it arrived and he’d turned to his right, instead of his friend Jacques sitting there, he’d found Shreyline sitting there instead.
Perhaps, it was her pretty face. Maybe, it was her curves. Perhaps, it was her simple country manner. Or, maybe it was the way that she’d always listened to his complaints about the city and its dangers without judging him.
He wasn’t sure.
Exhaling slowly to calm himself back down, Franck felt his mind shrug at its own hazy question.
It didn’t matter now, did it? Whatever it was about Shreyline that had made him stay that night, or any of the nights which had then followed, Franck did know, that if it hadn’t have been for her, then there was no way that he would have been sitting there, surrounded by all of those slobbering old pricks, with their groping hands and their ‘fucking’, ‘pussy’, ‘ass’ banter.
“You OK baby?” asked Shreyline.
“Yes,” Franck hissed through his clenched teeth, as his hand gripped the glass tighter and his forehead furrowed.
He just wanted to glass the fucking cunts.
“You sure baby?”
“Jesus,” Franck snapped, “What is it with everyone tonight? Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be ‘OK’?”
“Sorry baby, it’s just…”
Shaking her head, Shreyline left it there. From the look on Franck’s face, she knew better than to push him. His friend Jacques had told her that, not long after they had first met.
“Shreyline, listen, don’t hassle Franck, OK? Just try and keep things nice and relaxed. And, please, Shreyline, if you really do want any kind of future with him, then, remember, whatever you do, don’t start phoning him, and texting him all the time. Franck hates that. I mean, he really hates that…”
Looking down at her smart-phone, Shreyline bit her lower lip.
Yes, she knew that as well.
Only that afternoon, Franck had completely lost it with her, when, having received no replies to her texts, she had phoned him up, just to see how he was. She hadn’t known that he was in a meeting. And, as she’d tried her best to explain, she hadn’t meant anything by it. And despite what Franck had said, she hadn’t been acting like a child. She’d just wanted him to know that she was thinking of him and that she cared. That wasn’t a lie, was it?
No, it wasn’t. Since she’d left the garment factory; not far from her village, and had come to the city to work for the owner, Franck was the only man that Shreyline had slept with for free, and the first man she had felt anything like this for.
“Another double vodka and soda…”
Looking up, Shreyline smiled at Franck, as he pushed his empty glass towards Borana.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.
“Nothing, I…”
Shaking her head, Shreyline stopped again and looked down at her phone.
She hated it when Franck drank like this. It changed him from the person that she could still see on her touch screen. Photos and messages which reminded Shreyline of how well Franck used to treat her. That the way he’d been lately was not who he really was. That all the bad things that had happened to him would soon fade from his mind, and that things between them would go back to the way that they had been. A memory that not only lightened her mood, but also reassured Shreyline that they still had a future together. A future into which she’d already invested two months of her time.
Yes, Shreyline nodded to herself, a future that she had a real chance of building with Franck. She didn’t care what the other girls said about him and his drinking. She wasn’t going to end up like Borana behind the bar. No, there was no way that was going to happen. Franck would come good. Shreyline knew he would.
Blushing, Shreyline couldn’t stop herself from laughing at that, as she browsed through the photos and the videos, which they’d both sent to one another, the nights they’d spent apart.
Yes, she had always made sure of that, hadn’t she?
“Another double vodka and soda.”
Handing Borana the money, Franck shook his head.
He had no idea what Shreyline found so funny. All day she’d hassled him about coming to the bar. And now that he had, she was just sitting there, like some dumb little teenager, staring at her phone and ignoring him, just as she’d ignored everything he’d said that afternoon.
Still, Franck wasn’t surprised.
You only had to look around the bar to see what passed for manners in Phnom Penh. The old man; sat by the right hand wall, who was groping a young girl’s breasts and backside. The older girl; seated behind them, who was pouring herself a glass full of vodka, while the buyer of the bottle was in the toilets with a different girl. And the tattooed man; sat on his own in a booth near the door, who was laughing and then arguing with the pipe that he had been smoking meth through.
“Yes,” Franck growled.
That was the culture there. That was how Phnom Penh had taught them all to behave.
“You fucking scum…”
Taking a piece of toilet paper from the plastic box in front of him, Franck wiped the sweat from his burning forehead.
“You OK baby?” asked Shreyline again.
“For fuck’s sake…”
Screwing up the black stained piece of toilet paper, Franck hurled it at the floor and turned to face Shreyline.
“Please, will you stop asking me that?”
“But-”
“But nothing,” he said, “I told you this afternoon Shreyline. You don’t need to keep on checking up on me, OK? Not only is it annoying Shreyline, it’s also fucking boring. Jesus, haven’t you got anything interesting to say? Or, would you prefer to just sit there staring at your stupid phone all night?”
Her face flushing red, Shreyline slammed her hand down on the counter.
“Don’t talk to me like that!” she shouted, over the music in the bar, “So what if I don’t know anything about all these painters and writers that you love to go on and on about? I’m still a human being, aren’t I? Yes, Franck, I am. So start treating me like one, and stop fucking bullying me…”
Glancing at the other girls, who were all watching them, Shreyline lowered her voice before she then went on.
“Besides,” she shrugged, trying her best to look calm in front of the other girls, “I’ve already said sorry for disturbing you, haven’t I? What else do you want me to do Franck? I mean, how was I to know that you were in a meeting? And if it was, sooo important, then why didn’t you tell me that when we got up this morning?”
Laughing, Franck shook his head at her.
“Because it’s none of your business, is it?”
Folding her arms, Shreyline fixed her brown eyes on Franck’s.
“Right, it’s like that then is it…”
Yes, Franck was drunk, but that was no excuse. Not any more. Not with all the other girls watching her and laughing at her. Not after all she had given Franck for free.
“So, go on then,” she demanded, “You tell me, what is my business then?”
Shaking his head, Franck looked down at his half-empty glass.
“Sorry Shreyline, I… I haven’t got a clue what you’re going on about.”
“Yes, you do Franck,” she insisted, “Yes, you bloody do. That’s why you won’t look at me. That’s why whenever I try and ask you about it, you always change the subject. Or say that you’re busy. Or you head for a bar. Or to that bloody pool hall! I’m sick of it, Franck, sick of it, you hear me?”
He could and Franck nodded.
Shreyline was less than a foot away from him. But he knew that was still fifteen hours on a plane from where she really wanted to be.
“It’s been two months now,” Shreyline went on, “Two months. And I’m sick of waiting for you to do something, anything, that shows me, that proves to me, that you really do love me, and it’s not just pretty words. You know I can’t give any more to this relationship, than I already have, Franck. But you? – What have you given me, Fracnkc? Well? Well?”
Turning to face her, Franck shook his head at her.
“No, Shreyline…”
She didn’t deserve an answer to that.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shreyline demanded.
Shaking his head again, Franck’s thin lips creased into a smile.
She really was stupid, wasn’t she?
“Listen Shreyline, if I have to explain, then you really don’t understand, do you?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head, “No Franck, I don’t.”
Shrugging, he beckoned Borana over.
“Well, that’s not my problem then, is it?”
“Franck, please…”
Pushing her hand away, he drained his glass and gave it back to Borana.
“Another double vodka and soda…”
He knew Shreyline wasn’t talking about any kind of emotional commitment. She was talking about money. Money to buy her out of her contract. Money to give to her parents. Money she knew she’d never asked him for. Money she knew he would never give her. But money she now claimed that he was trying to cheat her out of.
“Franck,” she pleaded, “Talk to me…”
Franck shook his head and raised his glass to his lips.
Why the hell should he? Asking him for money, made Shreyline no better than any of the other girls who worked there. And made him, in her eyes, no different from any of the other men who were always with them.
“Please…”
No, he wasn’t having that…
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
Not from this knock-off princess, with her fake pearls, polyester dress and plastic high heels…
“Franck?”
He slammed his glass back down.
“Because you’re full of fucking shite,” he snapped, “That’s why, Shreyline.”
“W-why… Y-you… You can’t-”
“Fuck off Shreyline, I’ll say whatever the hell I fucking well like.”
Franck saw her hand coming but he didn’t move.
“You bastard!” Shreyline screamed, slapping him hard around the face.
Nodding, Franck rubbed his sallow cheek.
Yes, if slapping him made Shreyline feel any better about her life, then he was more than happy for her. He was just glad that it was all over and done with, and he wouldn’t have to spend any more time sharing the same diseased air as all these fucking sex-pats.
Taking out a twenty, he got up off his stool, slapped it down in front of Shreyline and turned to leave when she pulled him back.
“Franck, wait!”
Shreyline wanted to explain, to apologise, to ask him to stay, but, in her heart, she knew she couldn’t and she didn’t even attempt to try. She had already made herself look a big enough fool in front of Borana and all of the other girls who worked there. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, Shreyline understood that they had been right all along, and that she had been nothing but young, stupid and very, very wrong. Letting go of his arm, Shreyline wiped her eyes and looked back up at him.
“Franck…”
But he wasn’t looking at Shreyline.
No, Franck was looking at the bald-headed man, who was walking through the bar towards them. In his sixties and dressed in a pair of red shorts and a green Hawaiian shirt, Franck had seen him there countless times before.
But that wasn’t what bothered Franck, was it?
No, it was because Franck was sure that he’d seen him somewhere else.
“Are you OK?” the old man asked Shrelyine, glancing at Franck before placing his hand on her shoulder, “Because if there’s a problem baby-”
“Yes,” Franck nodded, his eyes widening, as he remembered where he’d seen the man before, “We do have a fucking problem, old man…”
Molopo’s – that’s where Franck had seen him. It was on the way to Papayas from the pool hall. Franck had seen him sitting outside, drinking with two of the girls who worked there. Girls who, like all the other girls who ‘worked’ in Molopo’s, were no more than fourteen years old.
“You fucking nonce…”
Grabbing the man around the throat, Franck pushed him to the floor.
“Franck! No!!”
But it was too late for Shreyline to say or do anything. Franck was already on top of the man and had both his arms and legs pinned down.
“You… Fucking… Paedo… Piece of… Mother… Fucking… Shit…”
Fired on by the vodka, Franck didn’t stop until his fists, knees and his elbows had pounded the old man’s face into a shapeless bloody pulp.
“You. Fucking. Cunt…”
Spitting into the huge tear on the old man’s upper lip, Franck got back up to his feet. The girls and the other customers giving him a wide berth, as he swayed towards the toilets at the far end of the bar. His face, hands and his clothes, all covered in the old man’s blood.
“Franck!” Shreyline shouted after him, before Borana stepped in.
“No,” she snapped, grabbing Shreyline by the arm, “You’re not going after him. Not this time. You hear me?”
“Yes, but I-”
“But nothing.”
Borana pressed a finger against Shreyline’s lips.
“Yes,” Borana said, “You ‘love’ him, Shreyline. I know that. We all know that. You’ve told us all a million times how ‘in love’ you are. But right now Shreyline, you are not going to say, or tell me anything. You hear me? Not a single fucking word.”
Shaking her head, Borana scrolled down to the number on her phone and then put in the call.
Yes, they were coming…
Franck could feel it.
The adrenaline had worn off, and now he couldn’t stop himself from shaking.
Franck knew damned well that you couldn’t do something like that in a bar like Papayas and expect to get away with it. Especially to one of its best customers.
No, and even if he had run, or even if he tried to make a run for it now, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. No, they would still found him through roughing up Shreyline, or through the city’s tuk-tuk Mafia. The question wasn’t, ‘when’ they were coming, the question was, ‘how many’.
Turning off the tap, he leaned against the sink and waited for his heart to slow.
“For fuck’s sake Franck, why the fuck did you do that? Why didn’t you just leave?”
Looking up, he shook his head.
Franck had no answers for the reflection staring back at him from the toilet mirror. Yes, his short blonde hair may have still been parted to the right, but that’s all he recognised. That thin and bloodstained figure staring back at him may as well have belonged to a stranger.
BANG – BANG – BANG – BANG – BANG
Turning, Frank heard a foreign voice coming through the bolted toilet door.
“Come on pal. Out you come now. Time’s up. Don’t make us break the door down and drag your sorry ass out of there. That would not be cool, you get me?”
Franck did but had no answer for the man outside.
“Hey! Don’t blank me you prick, I said, “you get me?””
“Yes…”
He’d got Phnom Penh, the first time he’d been robbed at knife point. The first time he’d been beaten senseless. And the first time he’d felt a gun barrel pressed against his head. Again and again, that ‘city of four faces’ had schooled Franck in what was waiting for him beyond that bolted toilet door.
He could hear it in the angry shouts outside. He could see it staring back at him from the bloodstained sink. And he could feel it in his heartbeat, as Franck placed his hand upon the handle of the door. Franck knew that there was no escaping the city and he didn’t even try. Sliding back the bolt, Franck pushed open the toilet door and the owner’s men then rushed inside.
Stood by the bar, Borana shook her head and lit a cigarette, even though she wasn’t at all surprised.
That was the fifth fight in a week and the twelfth in the last month. Of course, Borana had seen far, far worse incidents than that. She had been working in the bars in Phnom Penh for over forty years. No, the reason Borana was shaking her head was because it was low-season. And with customers being thin on the ground, Borana knew that her boss really wasn’t going to appreciate another disruption like this, and she was going to get it in the neck again.
“OK,” nodded the short and bearded foreign man; in charge of the owner’s men, as the men passed her at the bar, “We’re all done here now, Borana, you can get them back to it now, OK?”
Nodding back at him, Borana watched, as the owner’s men dragged the two men’s unconscious bodies out of the bar, before turning her attention back to the girls.
“OK,” Borana snapped, clapping her hands loudly, as soon as the door to the bar had closed behind the men, “That’s enough of the tears and the chat then girls.”
“Come on!” Borana shouted at them, slamming her fist down on the counter, “You heard me ladies! Let’s get back to bloody work!”