Chpater 2

Thailand

At ‘Arrivals’, I wait, card clutched in hand: Strohmayer Party.

The crowds throng by, sweeping past; wives and husbands, lovers, and teenage sweethearts meet and embrace. Men smile, shake hands and slap backs, women hug and kiss cheeks. Children, olive-skinned, dark-haired and almond-eyed run to meet smiling oldsters, arms outstretched, shrieking as they run.

Nothing of this feels familiar.

But then, when did anyone come running to me?

My mother, a smile on her lips, laughter in her eyes, hunkering down, arms outstretched as I toddle to her, as fast as short legs will carry me… “Larry, Sweetheart…”

And Him in the background; red-faced, scowling, bleary-eyed.

Enough...

…

…

Ah... there they are...

Six in the group, middle-aged, prosperous and coming to ‘party’…

… for a given definition of ‘party’.

That’s got to be them.

I adjust my cap to just the right angle, brush down the jacket and straighten up, making sure the card is prominent.

The leader of the group is scanning the crowd. His eyes settle on the card and he looks back, jerking his chin at me. He struts across…

Rich…

Arrogant…

Jerk…

“Mr Strohmayer?”

“You the chauffeur?” His voice is a nice mix of accent and condescension.

“I’m here to take you to your lodgings, sir, yes.”

“Great.” He thumbs to the back of the group where one of them pushes a trolley piled with what looks like baggage for the lot of them. “Cases are back there. You can take us to the car. Limo? As I ordered?”

“Yes, sir. Everything as you ordered. Air conditioning. Drinks in the chiller. Everything for your comfort. If there is anything…”

“Just get us out of this heat.” He runs a finger around his collar. “Fucking humidity’s got me already. It’d better be everything we were promised. We’ve paid a lot for this.”

I duck my head and copy/paste my best tone of ingratiation. “I think, sir, I can guarantee you the experience of a lifetime.”

“Good. Paid a fuckin’ fortune for this. I want my money's worth.”

In the car - a stretch-limo as ordered; “If there is anything else you want, sirs, or any questions, just…”

“How old are they?” pipes up one. “I’m not looking for some sixteen-year-old claiming to be fourteen. I want the real thing.”

“You can choose, sir. Whatever you want. All ages. Both sexes. Local, foreign, Western, Asian, blond, dark. You name it. You’ll find it.”

“How young?” says one of them. He’s got that seedy hue that comes from spending too much time indoors bending over a screen.

Probably dick-less and can’t pull an actual woman…

“As young as you want, sir.”

Dickless leans back and sighs. “Great. I want it really tight when I…”

“Alright,” snaps Strohmayer. “We don’t want to hear it, Frischmann. Whatever you want’s gonna be there. Where are we eating?”

“I’m taking you there now, sir. A banquet for six laid on. A mix of traditional Thai and Western dishes as requested. Is there anything…”

“Shut the fuck up and give us some privacy.”

“Of course, sir.”

That works for me…

I tap the button raising the glass screen behind me, making sure I turn my face from the rear-view so they don’t see me smiling.

Ain’t the internet wonderful? All those people who, once, would have been so hard to find. Now, in these days of the great and glorious World Wide Web, you locate the right ‘social media’ on the dark-net and, Hey, Presto…

I turn off the main highway and down the track through the rainforest.

“What kind of hotel is this?” spouts one. His voice echoes through the intercom, tinny and reedy. I’m not sure how much of the tone is his own voice and how much the connection, but…

“Obviously sirs, even here, we have to be discreet. You understand that technically this is illegal, regardless of the realities and the consent of the children involved.”

“They have consented, have they?” It’s the runt who was pushing the baggage trolley when I met them.

“Or their parents have consented. Often, the children are supporting older members of their families through the work.”

One of them discovers the drinks cabinet, starts splashing gin and tonic, malt and whatever else. It doesn’t matter which they choose. There’s enough Zolpidem in any of the bottles to incapacitate the drinkers.

As they clink glasses and exchange brags, I knock down the security lock. None of them notices.

*****

Michael - Eleven Weeks

In the kitchen, I find James extending the breakfast table. “Six for breakfast.” His face is suspiciously straight. “We need more space.”

Mitch joins us, heading for the jar containing her peppermint tea. She’s wearing an expression which hovers between a twinkle and a question. She turns her gaze on Charlotte. “Yes?”

“Yes, Michael accepted.”

Mitch nods, her expression thoughtful, then turns to help James set out the table. “I’ll do that.”

“Thanks.” He collects eggs from the fridge... “A good breakfast all round, I think.” Then brandishing a bottle, “And perhaps some bucks fizz by way of celebration.”

“Sounds good to me.” In truth, I feel a little awkward, pinned under Mitch’s gaze. She’s barely arrived with us, learning that her long lost daughter has two ‘husbands’, and now one of them has…

What?

… an arrangement that he has a second ‘wife’.

But she doesn’t look annoyed. Her mouth is twitching as she smooths the tablecloth. “You lead an adventurous life, don’t you,” she comments, taking cutlery from the drawer and laying out six sets.

“Are you alright with it? You obviously knew about it. And before I did too.”

“I’m happy if Jenny is happy.”

We’re interrupted by the arrival of Beth and Richard, both casual in jeans and tee-shirts.

Richard, one hand in the small of Beth’s back, gestures her to a chair. “Good morning, James, Michael. Good morning, Mitch.”

Ignoring the heat on my cheeks, I take my place at the table, a seat between Charlotte and Beth. Beth meets my eye, then looks away, a flush rising up her neck.

At least it's not just me...

I give Charlotte a peck on the cheek as, bland-faced, she butters a stack of toast then pushes the rack to Beth, who sits, eyes downcast, face pinking.

Charlotte speaks through a mouthful of crunch. “Aren't you going to kiss your new wife, ‘Good morning’?” Beth’s eyes roll to her, and back to me again.

“Morning, Beth.” I give her a peck on the cheek too. The flush deepens, but she returns the kiss with a muttered ‘Morning’.

Richard says nothing, simply cradling a steaming mug, but the devil dances in his eyes.

James bustles around the kitchen area. “What would you like for breakfast, Beth?”

“What Mitch is having looks nice.”

“Coming up.” James deposits cereal, a bowl of chopped fruit and yoghurt by her. Then he hovers over the table with the jug. “More coffee, Richard?”

Richard winces, then rises, heading for the hob. “No, thanks, James. I’ll make another pot.”

“No need. There’s plenty.”

Richard clicks his tongue. “I’ve tasted your coffee, James. And I value my stomach lining. I’ll make my own.”

The six of us around the table makes for a very convivial breakfast. Half an hour and about ten thousand calories later, we all settle back drinking tea, peppermint and coffee.

“Ah…” James tops up his horrendous brew. “So… where do we go from here?”

Where indeed?

Richard pours for himself from a second jug, then offers it to Beth. “I’d say, let’s take things gradually. There’s no need to force any kind of pace. However, our group relationship develops, there’s no hurry. And we all have different lives.” Putting his cup down, he steeples fingers. “Whatever’s going to happen between us, we should let it happen organically…”

Thank God for that…

Charlotte, wiping crumbs from her lips, mumbles agreement through a mouthful of egg. Beth follows. Mitch simply watches with a cool gaze.

Richard continues, “Just now we are two separate families, in two separate homes. Perhaps as a start, we should spend the occasional weekend with each other?”

“A good idea.” James waves his coffee cup, punctuating his words, putting it down again as it slops over. “And I have another suggestion. How about a couple of weeks at the beach house? We’re in June now. We could make arrangements, organize our workloads for some time off in July or August.”

Richard arches his brows. “Sounds good to me. Elizabeth?”

She looks down, dimpling. “It sounds lovely.” Her hand slips into mine, squeezing my fingers. I squeeze back.

“They do say,” comments Mitch, “that the way to really find out if you get along with someone is to spend a holiday with them.”

Richard nods into his coffee. “There’s a lot of truth in that. And with what we are proposing with our ‘family’ of five, plus extras…” He nods down to first Beth’s belly, then Charlotte’s… “We’d better be sure we have something workable.”

He pauses. “You’re very quiet, Michael, considering your role in all this.”

“Richard, I’m still reeling. But I'd say a vacation at the beach house is an excellent idea.”

“Good. Mitch, will you join us?”

A porcelain cup poised between her fingers, she hesitates. “I don’t think so, no. This is about the five of you. Whatever Jenny’s life-choices are, it is for her to make them work. My being there would simply be interference.”

James exchanges a glance with me, frowning. “Mitch, you’re part of the family now. You’re welcome to join us.”

She sips. “Thank you, James. And I appreciate it. But no-one takes the mother-in-law on the honeymoon.”

*****