Angrily

"Well," you say, face heating, pulling your hand away from hers, "at least now I know why you were so friendly to a complete stranger." You're surprised at how coldly angry your voice is, especially considering how hot your face, neck, and now arms and legs are.

You turn back to your computer, only to hear the captain's voice over the intercom asking passengers to shut off all electronic devices. You close your laptop, automatically putting it to sleep, and look out the window until an attractive flight attendant enters First Class to demonstrate safety procedures for you all. Afterward, you return your gaze to the tarmac until takeoff.

Watching the huge jet leave the ground is both thrilling and a little scary even through the smallish passenger windows, and you wonder briefly what the view would look like from the cockpit. When the takeoff is over and the cabin indicator lights say it's once again okay to use your computer, you fire it back up without even a glance at Malee.

But she's apparently not taking your hint. "Aaron," she says, hand on yours again. When you pull roughly away from her again, she says, "Aaron! Why are you so angry with me?" You can hear the intensity in her voice, even though you don't hear her raise it by a single decibel.

The question stops you cold. Why ARE you so mad at her? You'd spent so much energy on the anger that you'd had none left over for what had pissed you off so badly.

Oh, yeah. You'd thought you might have a chance with her, for a date or possibly more, only to find out she was a paid corporate shill. That ... hurt. You thought you'd been so smooth, only to discover you could've just drooled and scratched yourself and gotten equally enthusiastic responses.

But you're not about to explain all that ... all those private feelings ... to this con artist, so you say, "I don't know what you call somebody who's paid to be 'friendly' with a man in Thailand, but here in the States we call her a prostitute."

Malee's response is confusing. You'd expected anger or shame, or maybe denial, but instead she giggles, raising a hand to her lips.

"Oh, Aaron," she laughs, but then becomes serious again, "No, we call women paid to be 'friendly' in that way prostitutes too. But first, you're wrong and second ... how to say this? Second, Thais are Buddhist people. We don't consider prostitutes ... soiled in the way you Anglos do. So your insult fell a little flat."

"How was I wrong? Are you saying you're NOT a paid corporate shill?"

She frowns and looks down at her hand. "What is this word, 'shill'? I do not know it."

"It means part of a team of con artists. Someone who plays the part of an enthusiastic customer to encourage the rubes to buy something wortless ... fake miracle medicines, counterfeit lottery tickets, that sort of thing."

"Ah. I see. In that case no, I am not a 'corporate shill'. You see, I am not receiving any money for this."

You stare at her in disbelief. "Then why ... why are you here?"

"Why, to recruit you as Phuhying Dek phuchay Fashions' spokesperson and model, of course." She's stroking your hand again. You're not sure you believe she's not a con artist or corporate floozie, but just her claim has defused your anger. A bit.

"Okay, but why?"

She looks a bit pained for a moment before asking, "Do my reasons really matter? I could tell you what a difference Phuhying Dek phuchay has made in my life, how hard living as a Thai peasant ... girl ... can be, the glamour and luxury I live with now, but I'm sure you can figure that out for yourself. 600,000 baht is a tidy sum even in the United States. I would think that my ... willingness to travel halfway 'round the world just to talk to you would be convincing."

"It is ... very. But you're still hiding something. I can hear it. I can see it in your eyes right now. What is it?"

She turns away and mumbles something. All you hear of it is an initial "I" and something that sounds like "gore" followed by some sibilants.

"Excuse me? I didn't hear you."

She turns back to you, hair flying and eyes bright. "I said I think you're gorgeous," she hisses at you, "I volunteered to bring you into the fold three minutes after I saw those photos you sent. Mister Dantanavanawong had already chosen you, but I knew I had to be the one to come out and recruit you. You have so much raw potential, you're so beautiful, so sexy ... you remind me of ME when I first started. I just ... wanted to meet you, to get to know you, maybe help you along ..."

You listen to her entire ... you suppose "rant" is the only appropriate word even though she's praising you to the skies ... but you won't remember much if it by morning. Most of it will have been blasted out if your memory by the one word that really matters.

"You ... think I'm sexy ...?"

She smiles at you again, dropping her hand from yours to your inner thigh and squeezing. "Very sexy. Now apologize and kiss me, dammit."

"I'm sorry," you say, leaning in for a kiss.