"Looking up some places I could go to tonight, after dinner."

He peered into the screen. "Gay bars?"

"Naturally. Why would I want to go to a straight one?"

It was my first time in that city. The days were filled with plenary sessions and panel discussions. Dinners were always pre-arranged affairs organised by the conference host and so, really, the only free time I had were the few hours after that.

He – let's call him Thuy – was one of the delegates from Vietnam. If I remember correctly, there were 4 of them sharing 2 rooms. I was the only one from little Singapore.

We had met a few days before at the opening reception. Introducing myself, I spoke a little about my gay activism and website. I noticed immediately that Thuy's reaction was different from his compatriots'. It was ever so subtle, but I thought I detected a slight brightening, a lifting of interest, whereas the others' faces went the opposite way, towards puzzlement, maybe discomfort.

He didn't say anything then and allowed his fellow delegates to change the subject, but his face said enough. I knew he was intrigued at the very least.

He stood out in another way too. He was the best looking one of the lot though the competition was hardly stiff. The most senior of the delegation was a short untidy man with a scrunched face that gave me the impression of an impatient, crumpled ball of paper. The other two were underweight, with loose-fitting jackets, one of whom had prominent gold fillings between his front teeth while the other had spectacles far too big for his long, drooping face. Do party apparatchiks all look like that?

Thuy was actually quite ordinary-looking: Fortyish, medium height, medium sized, some early grey sprinkled on still-thick hair. Like the others, his English was imperfect, but unlike the others, he seemed less self-conscious about it, so instead of speaking haltingly, he just let go, and the words came out they way they came out. It was for the listener to make the best of it.

I hadn't done any research into the gay scene before arriving in this city; in any case, I wasn't particularly intending to partake of it. But since I had that bit of free time on that second evening, between the last panel session that ended at 5 and before the scheduled dinner at 7, I thought I might see if I could find any information from a web search at the internet cafe across the street from the hotel. Sure enough, there was a gay bar not more than 3 blocks away. A highly recommended one too, according to reviews. I was just jotting its address down into my notebook when Thuy walked in.

"You want to go to gay bar tonight?" It wasn't difficult for him to put two and two together. Why else would I be surfing the net for addresses and writing in my notebook?

"Possibly, if I have time after the dinner. But I don't know when the dinner will end..." I was trying to say yes, no and maybe all at the same time. I needed to know where this conversation was going before I committed to any course of action.

"Hmmm..." he said, trying to read more from the screen.

I continued copying the address, and another, and another. Just in case I had lots and lots of time to check them all out, though actually, it was to avoid having to say more to Thuy until he had said something else first. So I would know where the conversation was headed.

"Is it near?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Now that's taking it in an interesting direction, I thought. "Yes, in fact there is supposed to be one just a short walk away."

"Can I go with you?"

* * * * *

 
Dinner and handshakes were done by 10. But by then, it looked like it might rain. We borrowed an umbrella from the front desk just in case.

I was glad that Thuy wanted to come along. He had never seen a gay bar before though he had heard about such things. I wasn't sure how one hears about such things in Hanoi; I reminded myself to ask him later. As for me, I was quite happy to have him for company. Bars can be intimidating places, especially gay ones. People prop themselves at strategic spots giving new walk-ins the once over, and since I am no Greek God, I never pass the test.

Moreover, I didn't speak the local language, making conversation difficult unless whoever I met in the bar was fluent in English. Between physical mark-down and linguistic dismissal, I calculated that I would, if alone, almost certainly end up looking and feeling shipwrecked.

Yes, it was good to have him with me.

It was less busy than I expected. Maybe the reviews were out of date; the bar might once have been the in place but no more. Or maybe, it was because this was a weekday. Perhaps weekends were different.

Whatever the reason, we had a choice of seats. We took a bench seat at the back wall, with a commanding view of most of the space. So we could watch the action. Except that for the hour or so we were there, there was hardly any.

We talked and soon my hand was on his shoulder as we shared a joke. His hand came onto my lap as he gave me an inside story about some scandal in the office where he worked. We sat closer together as the music got louder for no reason except maybe to compensate for the fact that the bar was still half empty.

Perhaps it was the rain that made it a poor night, for certainly by the time we were ready to go, it was quite wet. But armed with an umbrella – just one – we felt we could make it back to the hotel easily. What we failed to take into account was the wind, and no amount of holding tightly to each other saved either of us.

* * * * *

 
Going into the lift presented the moment of truth. Our rooms were on different floors, his lower than mine. If he got out on his floor, the night would come to an end. Those few seconds would be crucial.

I pressed the button for my seventh floor, but kept my finger on it, not quite sure what I should do next. Would he tell me to press his? Would he lean over to press it for himself? I turned to look at him and found someone as undecided as I was. He was holding his key which clearly indicated a 5th floor room, yet made no move towards the button.

Which was a good sign, I suppose. He clearly knew the possibility existed and was probably even prepared to accept an offer. But how should I make it?

"You think it's too late to go back to your room?" I asked. "Will your friend be asleep already?"

It's a lame tactic, I know. It was barely 11.30 pm. But lame moves are deployed for a reason – to let the other party know it's a ploy.

He caught it. "Yes, I think... I think... he sleeping already." And gave me a big, conspiratorial smile.

As we headed down the long corridor, we were like frisky teenage boys out for a romp in garden shed, alive to the illicit moment we had tacitly agreed on, yet edged with the risk of discovery in a hotel filled with other delegates. "Shhh," we said to ourselves but it didn't help the half-suppressed laughter and the give-away squeak of wet shoes. Anticipation is a heady brew. But as we reached the door, he hesitated. "My shirt is wet," he said. "I don't have dry clothes here." Was this an excuse to go back to his room?

Dang. This is no time to have second thoughts. Taking charge, I pulled him into the room by his arm, closed the door behind him, put my arms around his shoulders and said: "We don't need clothes tonight."

* * * * *

 
I never found out how he explained his absence to his room-mate. He stayed the whole night, but was careful not to go down to breakfast with me. I think he skipped breakfast altogether.

In fact, I didn't see him again till lunch the next day – he must have been in different panel sessions all morning. When I spotted him, he was in the company of his fellow Vietnamese again.

I went up to say hello to them all and Gold Teeth took the opportunity to ask me if I knew what souvenirs might be nice to buy for their families and where they might find them. I can never understand why this kind of thing happens – the way people expect me to be some sort of authority about places I have never visited before. Has it got to do with my usually being armed with maps and guidebooks and people notice these things? Anyhow, at some point in that conversation, it dropped that Thuy's wife's birthday was today, and if he didn't take home something special, it wouldn't be forgotten.

"Your wife?" My question had a significance none of the others could have guessed.

"He lucky," Gold Teeth said. "We have big families. Must buy many things. But Thuy only have wife and one son."

"You have a son?"

"Yes," Thuy beamed as any proud parent would. "Sixteen years old."

"Very handsome son," Big Spectacles chipped in. "Handsome, like father."

© Yawning Bread