The Nature of Prostitutes

Chapter 5: Every Prostit*te Has a Dream

Naturally, we swapped phone numbers.

I saved her contact as “Mascara Two Hundred Ninety Thousand” — her exact words.

Every time I glanced at that name, I cracked up like a lunatic.

That afternoon, after eating at home, I grabbed a boxed meal and headed to her place.

Tham lived in a rented house on Dao Duy Tu street, owned by some guy in Switzerland who rarely showed his face in Vietnam. Word on the street was he was one of her “regulars.”

Lingering too long outside her gate, I caught a few odd looks from the neighbors. They probably knew Tham’s less-than-pure line of work.

Screw it, I called out anyway.

Kept calling, but she didn’t open the door. Figured she was out on a job, probably with a client.

For real, just last night she was tossing and turning in a hospital bed, and now she’s ready to roll with some guy. I didn’t know what kind of woman she was anymore.

Pulled out my phone, dialed “Mascara Two Hundred Ninety Thousand.”

It rang forever…

“Hello?” Her voice finally crackled through.

“Tham, you home? I brought food.”

“Oh, I’m tied up with something, but I’ll be back soon. Wait if you want.”

Her “if” was a challenge, and who was I to say no to a beauty like her?

She said “soon,” but I stood there for over forty minutes, legs aching, before a white Vespa LX rolled up, headlights glaring.

Two girls on it—Tham in the back, and some chick I’d never seen driving.

Turns out, she wasn’t out w*****g like I thought. She’d gone to pick up her best friend from Hanoi.

This friend was a stunner—high nose, deep eyes, face like a Japanese girl in a kimono on some electronics box.

Tham’s friend was a true Da Lat girl, with a nickname that gave me chills: Ngoc - the Razor.

Rumor had it she was a big deal, a real player in the game.

The second she tossed her bag on the sofa, she sized me up, laughing her ass off.

“Well, well, what’s this? A stray calf?” This big-shot sister treated me like a toothless puppy.

“This the kid you were talking about, Tham?” Her voice boomed.

“Yeah, he took me to the hospital yesterday,” Tham said, her tone as casual as ever.

Then she turned to me. “I already ate with Ngoc.”

“Food? Where? Hand it over, I’m starving. Been a year since I was back in Da Lat, and I’m craving the real stuff,” Ngoc - the Razor said, snatching the boxed meal and digging in like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Eat quick and go shower, you slob,” Tham teased.

“What? You’re still living like a reckless mess? Everyone knows you don’t shower for at least half an hour after eating,” Ngoc shot back, rolling her eyes like she was schooling us.

Tham glanced at me. “They teach you that in school, kid?”

“Nah, but my mom used to say it,” I answered honestly.

“See, Tham? I’m never wrong,” Ngoc crowed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius now, huh? All fancy from your time in the capital,” Tham said, and for the first time, I saw her jab at someone.

“Learned it from that Phuong chick,” Ngoc said.

“Which Phuong?” Tham’s brow furrowed. “No way, you don’t mean…” She looked shocked.

“Minh Phuong, the one from Ba Chieu Market. Your mentor, and you forgot her?” Ngoc said, chewing loudly.

“I didn’t forget. Just haven’t seen her in ages. How’s she holding up in that foreign land?”

I figured this Minh Phuong from Ba Chieu Market was a w**********l too, probably the one who showed Tham and Ngoc the ropes.

“She quit the game when she left Saigon. Now she’s a big shot—married to some Singaporean guy, got a second-grader daughter, living in a fancy Tay Do villa. I stayed with her for a day, and man, she’s changed 180 degrees. Proper housewife now, teaching her kid, helping with piano lessons, drilling manners into her, all that jazz. With her husband, she’s all sweet—kissing him goodbye in the morning, cooking his meals, only shopping now and then. Can you believe it? The Phuong from Ba Chieu Market five years ago is now Phuong, the gentle mom. Shocking, right?” Ngoc - the Razor ended her speech with a cackle, nearly choking on her rice.

I noticed Tham’s eyes go misty, wet with longing.

Phuong Ba Chieu, Thao Doi Can, Ngoc Huyen Hanoi, Tong Bich Thao—big names in the call girl world across the north, central, and south. Now one of them had left the filthy trade, married a decent guy, had a cute kid, and was living the good life.

One look at Tham, and I knew she was aching for that kind of future.

It’s the dream of every w**********l.

I thought to myself, I could be a good guy, but I ain’t the one who can give her a billion-dollar house.

Seeing her sigh, my heart twisted.

“You didn’t call me when you were there?” Tham said, half-accusing.

“She told me not to tell anyone. Minh Phuong’s gone for good. Five years ago, everyone thought she got snatched by the O Moi crew in District 10 and sold overseas. People searched but found nothing. She’s good at hiding, but she couldn’t hide from me,” Ngoc said, grinning.

“Well, good for her. Don’t spread this around, or it’ll mess things up for her,” Tham said.

“God, you act like I’m some gossip,” Ngoc shot back.

I smirked to myself. If you’re not a gossip, then what’s with the recorder in your mouth?

Tham shook her head with a bitter smile. “Back in the day, if it wasn’t for her, I’d have been done for by that Dung Khu Di.”

My stomach dropped. These girls were straight-up street fighters back in the day.

Then Ngoc - the Razor let out a loud laugh.

“You crazy b***h, you think it’s funny if I died?” Tham snapped.

Ngoc kept laughing, doubling over, then dropped her voice low.

“Dung Khu Di—Phan Rang, right? That washed-up slut’s on her way out.”

“Where? Don’t tell me she’s shacked up with some foreigner,” Tham said, sounding pissed.

Ngoc snorted. “As if she’s that lucky. She’s headed to the Western Paradise. Got AIDS.”

“Holy s**t!”

It wasn’t just Tham—even I jumped.

“No surprise there. Had some looks but played stupid. Hooking up with junkies, partying with those dead-end losers every night, even bankrolling them. If she was smart like us, she’d have a house and a car by now.”

Ngoc neatly closed the food box and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag.

“That’s life.”

She blew out a cloud of smoke, smirking like the world had tempered her but never broken her.

Tham went quiet.

Time and again, I heard the brutal truths of the call girl life.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ngoc asked, flicking ash and raising an eyebrow.

“Life’s cruel to pretty girls,” Tham said, clutching a cushion, sighing heavily.

“Oh, come on, now you’re getting all poetic. You’re no worse than those actresses. Business is booming, just keep cozying up to those old guys. Save enough, and we’ll start a business, pool money with our crew. Why worry about the future? I say it’s better when trash like Dung drops off—more room for us,” Ngoc said.

“Yeah, I guess. But in reality, doing what we do, we’re as pretty as anyone, yet still…”

“Got it. Thao Western Countryside,” Ngoc cut in calmly.

Suddenly, Tham stopped talking, and the air grew heavy. The three of us sat in that room, silent as graves.

I glanced from Tham to Ngoc. One wrong word now, and these two fierce women would probably toss me out the door.

As I started to sweat, Ngoc - the Razor turned to me.

“Hey, kid, you know where AIDS started spreading in Da Lat?”

She stumped me. I shook my head.

“From the Western Countryside girls,” she said, laughing her ass off again.

I glanced at Tham, and sure enough, she was glaring.

“Watch it, don’t drag my hometown into this,” she snapped.

“What, I’m wrong? You’re just touchy,” Ngoc fired back, unfazed.

Tham hurled the cushion, smacking Ngoc square in the face.

“Ow, you b***h!”

Ngoc laughed. “Your Thao—fine, let’s call her Miss Thao—was gorgeous, no doubt about it.”

“She’s from Ben Tre, not Can Tho,” Tham said, clearly pissed.

“Still Western Countryside. And when people talk Western Countryside girls, they think of her. Keep arguing.”

“Yeah, Western Countryside girls. Everyone says we’re just cheap w****s, not classy like pure Da Lat stock,” Tham said through gritted teeth, her sharp eyes flashing.

I could feel the inferiority complex in her words.

“Alright, my bad, just teasing,” Ngoc said.

From that, I learned my lesson: never bring up her hometown or trash-talk Western Countryside girls. People’s cruel generalizations make it hard for them to live elsewhere.

Ngoc turned to me, sticking out her tongue playfully, then launched into a story.

“Thao Western Countryside, from Ben Tre. Round face, pale skin, silky hair, straight nose, dark sparkling eyes—cute as hell. Twenty years ago, she drifted to Da Lat to work the streets. Brought AIDS with her. Back then, Da Lat hadn’t seen the disease. She was bitter, hated life, and when she decided to get revenge, spreading it to the whole damn town was easy enough.” Ngoc paused, then went on.

“Thao Western Countryside was a legend here, beautiful like a pageant queen. For a bit of cash, a meal, or a night, she’d take any guy—especially the motorbike taxi drivers by Xuan Huong Lake. Then the cops nabbed her, tested her. Hell, if people fear AIDS now, back then it was ten times worse. Families locked their kids inside. Nosy bastards crowded the hospital quarantine to gawk at the ‘AIDS girl.’ The dumbasses who slept with her went crazy when they found out—some even killed themselves. Rumor has it Thao was still laughing when she died.”

Ngoc told the story slowly, chuckling like it was some damn joke.

Deep down, I felt the world was full of vile s**t.

Now I got why people turned cold at the mention of Western Countryside girls.

“Enough, stop scaring the kid,” Tham said, yawning.

“Kid? He’s old enough to get married,” Ngoc teased, winking.

I sat there, dumbstruck, watching these two go at it.

A bookworm like me had never known the inner workings of this hooker world. Now, up close, I felt a creeping dread.

Tham checked the time and shot me a look. “It’s late. Go home. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

She kicked me out without a second thought. Knowing her, I wasn’t mad.

Ngoc wasn’t done. She followed me, taunting.

“Will the little admirer show up tomorrow?” Then, lowering her voice, “This one’s tough, kid. Chase her, and you’ll just end up her errand boy. But I can help you out.”

She flashed a creepy grin.

“Help how?” I asked.

Ngoc glanced back to make sure Tham wasn’t listening, then whispered a string of numbers.

“Her phone number, kid.”

“Got it,” I said, frantically typing it in.

“We’ll talk later,” she said, blowing me a kiss before slamming the gate, cigarette in mouth, strutting back inside.

That night, and many nights after, Tham and Ngoc’s stories haunted my dreams.

I dreamt I was screwing Tham, and when it was over, she laughed like a maniac.

“Kid, now we’re both done for—AIDS, hahaha!”

I woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding.

Tham’s dream was to quit the game, marry a man who’d love her completely.

I swore I’d help her make that happen.

From that day on, I threw myself into studying, barely eating or sleeping.

I had my sights set on a goal: the gates of the polytechnic university.

I’d become a damn good engineer.