Evinrud - 16

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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie

Part 3 of 5

Making my way to a club in the San Li Tun. Four MRT stops south and two blocks on foot. It’s called Bada Hutong, after Beijing’s 18th century red light district. Last year one of the owners wanted to rebrand it The Silicon Suite. Something to do with the electronics industry and money and all that fake tit, but Bada Hutong is an institution , the name stuck.

‘The funny thing is neither name is meant to be ironic,’ Gabriel had laughed when he told me the story.

It’s a pretty exclusive men’s club, probably the most exclusive open smorgasbord of pussy in Beijing, but I’m not really experienced enough to know for sure.

I’ve been there twice with G and once on my own. Hopefully they recognize me. I doubt they get many patrons rocking up to the front door on foot but there’s a company ID and plenty of money in my pocket.

It’s probably not what G meant when he said ‘find a girl’ but what am I supposed to do?

I’ve always been a loner…. never had much to say. In bootcamp I was everyone’s favourite s%&t taker, for a while at least.

‘Your looks are wasted on you man, do you even like skirt?’
‘Reece is too busy making love to the mirror to make love to a girl.’
‘What do you really like doing with that boot polish pretty boy.’

They called me ‘Priss’… and that was to my face. Eventually I cracked it and beat the cr*p out of one of them in the mess hall. They left me alone after that. And it was that incident that drew Gabriel’s attention.

Right now I can see my face reflected in the window of the MRT. Two seats back there’s a hot girl with red lips and pale skin and one of those new-age blunt hair cuts. Our eyes meet in the glass for a second before I turn away.

I suppose I could smile. Wring my lips into an encouraging upturned curve…but what good would that do? The minute she started talking to me I would freeze… fall on my face like a got shot bunny.

At least when you pay for it you don’t need to make conversation.

It’s my stop. The girl with the hair cut watches me as I step out onto the platform and into the crowd. Another date I’ll never have.

Street level is a swarming mass of bodies. The night markets are packed and my supposed fifteen minute walk is becoming more of a thirty minute shove. Crowd maneuvering is clearly another skill in which I’m lacking. On an air motor, the only thing you need to dodge is the architecture.

I’m pushed onto a side street and into a man carrying a box of sauce bottles. The sound of breaking glass and high pitched Mandarin follows. And there’s a friggen dark glob of wet stinking sauce soaking into my left book.

‘F*#k,’ I scream, which puts an end to the high pitched Mandarin. The man I knocked in to is now picking up the handful of bottles that survived the accident. He is avoiding looking at me.

I don’t know where it comes from, this sudden anger that scares the hell out of it’s witnesses.
I pull a couple of large bank notes out of my pocket and place them in front of the surprised fellow. I can see a south facing alley a little further up the side street. It’s a far more appealing option than heading back to the main drag.
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