I was eating a plate of roast pork-overdone in the worst way-in a small restaurant on the first floor of the Lisboa when the Russian girl with green eyes walked in. She headed straight to my table.
“May I sit?”
“I’m all out of engraved invitations.”
“You really shouldn’t stay in the Nam Lo. It isn’t proper for a man like you.”
“A man like me.”
“My boss doesn’t want you there. He says it scares clients away.”
“I know your boss?”
“You will meet him soon enough.” Her phone rang; she answered reluctantly. “Da, da.” She nodded at me. “Da.”
“That was your boss.”
“Yes, he told me to tell you he would see that you were out of the Nam Lo one way or another. I’m sorry.” She shook her head sadly. “You don’t know this man.”
“Would you like some dinner? Anything but the pork.”
She looked at the pictures on the menu and pointed at a bowl of noodles. “This is what I have mostly.” She shrugged, the way a young person does, not much weighing on their shoulders. “One more time won’t hurt.”
“You come here often?”
“Every night before I… go to work.”
“How about on your night off?”
She laughed so convincingly that it was almost impossible to find the pain. “What night off? I work seven days a week. It’s part of the contract.”
“You have a contract?”
“Oh course. That’s why I’m here. At the end of six months, I get paid and go home. Only five months to go. I’m never coming back.”
“There must be lots of Russian girls here.”
She shrugged, this time without the innocence. “I’m not pretty enough for you?”
“You? You’re the prettiest Russian girl I’ve ever seen. You’re also very young. Why don’t you go home?”
“Can’t. Told you. I have a contract.”
“You don’t have to abide by it. It’s not really legal.”
“You’re going to get me a passport, and a plane ticket, I suppose?”
“Forgive me for asking-how much do you have to make a night?”
“Ten thousand.”
“How much an hour?”
“A thousand.”
I did the math. “That’s awful. What kind of place is this?”
She pointed to a line of young, well-dressed Chinese women walking up and down the hallway next to the restaurant. “Ask them.”
“What is it, a fashion show?”
She laughed. “They are here to make love.”
“The whole group? We’re in a fancy hotel. Shouldn’t they at least be outside, on the street?”
“We walk the streets. The Chinese girls don’t have to. A guest picks out the one he likes. Some of the guests are old, so that way they don’t have to use energy walking so far back to the room. It’s a service, I guess. Respect for the elderly.”
I looked at the girls. “What if I don’t like any of them?”
“Then you eat noodles with me.” She patted my hand. “Just get out of the Nam Lo, will you?”