The big room was almost empty, its encircling screens showing golf, rugby, surfing, Keno and a flickering dinner menu. One old man asleep in his chair and another man sitting with his wife … or girlfriend .. or companion.
He was about 70 plus and attentive to the lovely young woman by his side. She was Asian. He wasn’t.
She was far from home. He wasn’t.
He fetched the drinks, a menu, and while she waited for him to return she posed for her camera. Taking image after image, pouting, smiling, frowning ..
Adjusting the spaghetti straps of her dress here, the symmetry of her half-covered bust there, a slight toss of her raven coloured hair, a modest adjustment of the beige silk dress that had crept up her legs. To her thighs.
The temptation was there.
The room was divided into halves by vertical metal beams about six inches apart .. the other side was empty except for a few unoccupied tables and chairs.
Women know they are being watched.
And some are fearful of the men who watch them.
I wanted to walk up to her while she was alone, excuse myself and ask if she didn’t mind being photographed. Then, if she had agreed, I would have asked her to accompany me to the other half of the room and the empty table there, then I would have sat her on a chair and asked her to look through the bars.
She may not have understood my motives.