The man is yelling, “What the fuck, what the fuck!” The woman in the chair jumps up and disappears behind the bar. The prostitutes look like they are going to cry, their thin faces shaking and pinched. Trouble is coming, maybe, and they are afraid and hope it does not come down on them. They press themselves more tightly to their Japanese businessmen or tall Europeans. Safety with the customers. The customer is always right.

“I would be catching a cab to a hospital,” says Bridget, aiming her camera at the handlebar man.

Mike thinks the guy will tell the story only if he doesn’t get a disease.

Paul is still laughing when a high voice calls to him from behind. “Paul,” the voice flies, and Mike knows he’s heard it before. They turn and see Tweety coming toward them from the pool table just behind them. Paul stands and she throws her arms around him. Bridget, too, seems pleased to see Tweety and they kiss on the cheek.

“Have you met Tweety?” Bridget asks Mike.

“We met last night,” Mike says. “This morning.”

“With Harrison,” says Tweety, nodding very brightly.

Mike looks at Tweety and remembers what Harrison told him about her, that she wants to be a writer. He wonders what her story would be if she could write it right now. Mike remembers something else Harrison told him about her, that she is a roamer, a girl who does not belong to a particular club but works several.

“What are you doing here,” Tweety asks him, “in this dirty place?”

“Working,” Paul volunteers, “on his travel piece.”

“Oh, no,” Tweety says, giggling.

“And we must have a quote from you,” Paul smiles. “Here, why should Americans come to Thailand?”

Tweety deliberates, staring off toward the stage for a moment, and then, with great seriousness, brings her voice down a notch. “Thailand is the most beautiful country in the world.”

Mike cannot tell whether she is joking or not, but he knows that they are all playing some kind of game.

Paul and Bridget clap and laugh. Mike makes a study of the pool game so he doesn’t have to look at Tweety, but after a moment she leans close to his ear. He can feel her light breath on his neck. She puts her hand on his arm, gripping him as if to tell a secret. He bends down to hear, to be closer to her.

“Can I go home with you tonight?”

There is something in her voice Mike has heard before. From Jane, maybe? He laughs, but feels terrible and hypnotized. “Thank you,” he says, “not me.” He smiles the whole time he speaks, as if this were really funny.

Tweety leans closer and asks again using the same words and breathes again into his ear and puts her hand on his thigh. Mike catches Bridget looking away as he laughs again, and says, “No thank you, Tweety.”