The Backpacker by John Harris Page A

woman of dubious gender was folding serviettes and placing them in a neat pile. It was difficult to tell whether she was one of the ladymen I’d heard so much about.
    D’you think that’s a man?’ I whispered, and from the cover of my menu flicked my eyes towards the counter.
    Dave looked up. ‘What, her? No way, man. I tell you, if she’s a fella I’d still have sex with her.’
    I watched the woman for a moment and said, ‘Bet you she is.’
    â€˜How much?’
    â€˜Breakfast; loser pays the bill.’
    â€˜You’re on.’ We shook hands over the table. ‘How’re we going to prove it?’
    â€˜Ask?’
    â€˜Fuck, John, we can’t ask!’
    I thought for a moment and said, ‘You’ll just have to sleep with her then.’
    â€˜Hey, no problem, it’s a girl.’
    At that moment the woman looked up from her boring serviette-folding job and winked at us. ‘That’s it,’ I exclaimed, ‘she’s a he, you lose.’
    â€˜I lose cause she winked?’ Dave slammed his large hands on the table.
    â€˜Course. That’s proof enough isn’t it? Normal girls don’t wink at strangers.’
    â€˜Hookers do.’ Dave lifted his menu and hid behind. ‘Shit, she’s coming over.’
    The Thai woman was wearing a sarong tied at the waist, and above that a leotard. As beautiful as she was, six-foot tall and incredibly slim, her small hips gave the game away the minute she emerged from behind the counter.
    â€˜Looks like I’m picking up the tab,’ Dave mumbled nervously. He shook his head. ‘Imagine making that mistake. I’m never getting drunk in Thailand.’
    With one hand running fingers through her hair and the other placed on our table, the Thai spoke with soft familiarity. ‘Wha’ you hansoon boy like?’
    Dave started. ‘Ahem. Um, fruit salad and an American breakfast.’
    She leaned forward over the table, pushing her imaginary cleavage together with both arms, and looked at me. I ordered an orange juice and she withdrew to the counter, returning a moment later with some condiments and folded serviettes, which she placed carefully on the table. She took intricate care over the tiniest details, smoothing out the folds in the tablecloth with manicured fingers. It was only then that I noticed her bright blue nail varnish.
    I went to speak but she cut me off, stunning me into silence. ‘One momen’ Lor’ John,’ she said, walking away with a wiggle.
    Dave’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he dropped the menu on the floor. ‘Fuckin’ what did you get up to last night, man, huh?’
    My mouth dropped open but no words came out. I just stared at the sarong as it swayed its way back across the floor. I still couldn’t quite register what I’d just heard.
    Dave started rocking backwards and forwards on his chair, laughing. ‘Man, you are a dark horse. Whoo-ee!’ I leaned across the table at Dave, ready to protest my innocence. ‘Whoa,’ he said, ‘not so close! No wonder you’re not interested in Suzy!’
    â€˜Fuck off, Dave. I swear I don’t know him... er, her. I’ve never seen her before in my life.’
    He eyed me with suspicion. ‘Then how come he knows your name, Lord John?’
    I shook my head, hardly believing it myself.
    FOUR
    Dave was like a kid, badgering me about the incident all day long. When I asked the ladyman how she’d got my name, and she just laughed, it made Dave worse. Not only did he not believe that I hadn’t slept with the Thai but he also thought that I was some kind of royalty, constantly referring to me as ‘Your Lordship’ or ‘Your Highness’. Whenever I asked the ladyman where Rick was, she just said, ‘You wai’ momen’,’ and wiggled off to fold some tablecloths or do her hair. I began to think that someone was