March 21st, 1991
Dusit Thani Hotel, Bangkok, Thailand
Back to the pool this morning, joined this time, by Barry, a guy I know through Emilio. Barry’s speedos could not have been any smaller or tighter and the reason he can wear such is because he swims every morning, I mean, every morning, whether he’s at home in snowy Scotland or here in sultry Bangkok.
Watching all one hundred and thirty pounds of Barry glide through the pool was enough to make me give up and head back to my room where, amazingly, I resisted the urge to pick up the phone and order eggs benedict (yum!)
Tonight, a bunch of us went to the Telephone Bar, where the phone on our table was very busy with incoming calls, all for Barry (on each table is a phone that connects to the other tables.) Andy C rolled his eyes when, after hearing Barry talk incessantly about his adventures as “A Space Waitress,” he gave me a look that said, “Let’s go.”
Once outside, Andy (who’s camp factor far outweighs Barry’s) cracked me up with his perfect impression of, as he calls him, “Bootiful Baza!”
In the lobby, Andy asked if I was tired.
“No. Just hungry.”
“Me too, let’s grab something at the bar.”
“Sorry, I can’t.”
“I’m not eating. Or drinking.”
“What, ever again?” he chuckled.
“I’m really trying to be good,” I pleaded.
“Good is overrated,” he winked. “I’m thinking chocolate mousse.”
“Ah,” I sighed. “My weakness.”
“I remembered that,” he said, linking his arm through mine. “So, your room or mine?”