There was no trouble getting the bartender’s attention.
“This is my friend Vincent Calvino.”
She stretched her hand out to Calvino.
“Pleased to meet you. How lucky you are to have such a talented friend.”
“He reminds me every few hours,” said Calvino. “Just in case I forget.”
“I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” said Colonel Pratt.
With a woman who looked like this one, a name seemed unnecessary.
“My friends call me Kati.”
“What’s your Thai name?” asked Calvino. It bothered him when a Thai woman called herself Kati or Joy or June.
Leaning forward, she whispered, “Titiporn.”
If there was ever a reason for a Thai woman to use a farang name, she had it nailed. Calvino roughly estimated her breasts to fall in the region of 38C, raising a man’s temperature to about the same figure in Celsius. With a name like Kati she was sure to have stories of intensive questioning by immigration officers at international airports. But that would have paled against the attention her real name would have attracted in an upscale expat bar in Rangoon.
“That’s a beautiful name,” said Pratt.
“Memorable,” said Calvino.
“What would you like to drink?” asked the Colonel.
Kati, who preferred that name to Titiporn, sat at the bar next to Pratt.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said.
“Vincent was telling me about visiting the historical sights in Rangoon.”
“The Shwedagon is so beautiful,” she said. “But I prefer Wat Po in Bangkok.”
“I agree,” said Colonel Pratt.
“Are you playing at 50th Street again tonight?” Kati asked. “If so, I’ll go to hear you again. You play like a dream from heaven.”
A mouthful of whiskey shot out of Calvino’s nose.
“Did I say something funny?” she asked uncertainly.
Calvino grabbed a bar napkin and wiped his nose.
“You wouldn’t happen to be on Facebook?” asked Calvino, raising an eyebrow.
He glanced from her over to Pratt, whose nose was next to Kati’s hair. She flashed a smile as she shook her head.
“I don’t really like social media. Do you?”
“It has its moments,” said Calvino.
“I know someone who could make a fan page for you,” she said, looking up at the Colonel.
“I’d click ‘Like,’” said Calvino.
Kati reached into her Gucci bag and took out a pen and a notebook.