The Hidden Girlfriend

Unfortunately, we cannot enforce traffic light style dress codes on the men here: red for taken, green for all clear and orange for Hidden Girlfriend.

Gina met Tim at a mutual friend’s house party, one of the fabulous rooftop affairs that are blissfully common in Phnom Penh’s French colonial apartment buildings. Tim was a charming French businessman and had been working in Phnom Penh for the last couple of years, Gina had only skipped into town a month ago to work for an NGO for eight months. The two hit it off and mojito led to margarita led to multitude of stolen kisses in someone’s bedroom. The party was wrapping up, and Tim took Gina’s hand and, well, yaddayadda.

It’s a lovely yaddayadda, btw. Tim says all the right things, does all the right things, and takes a very charmed Gina out for breakfast the next morning. Tim calls, often and not too often. He takes Gina out for dinner a few nights later and then offers to cook her dinner at his place. Gina arrives at Tim’s place still O-struck by the weekend’s yaddayadda,  plucked, primed and perfumed to within an inch of her emotional stability. They spend some more time getting to know each other over several glasses of Argentina’s finest sub $5 a bottle  red wine (out of a case of seconds that got shipped to Cambodia because no other country in the world would take them). Laying on his couch, bare legs, fingers and soft lips intertwined, they discuss their work, their previous jobs, their home countries and their hopes for the future.

“Of course,” drawls Tim, in his perfect Parisienne accent. “I will return to France one day. It is where my heart is. Where my true love, the future mother of my children is.”

In playwriting we would call this a “[Beat].” In Harlequin Press they would call it a “steely silence”. In female circles, independent, career-orientated Western women call it a motherfucking slap in the face, but the Phnom Penh female calls it the “aha!” moment – as in “aha! I knew there was a flaw.”

From somewhere inside Gina’s ripped dreams she finds a “Your true love?”

Yes, my lover, says Tim. We have an understanding, says Tim. We have an open relationship, but our bond, it is so strong, says Tim.. Of course we can see other people, everyone has physical needs, says Tim.

At this point, Gina’s chief physical need was to somehow stand, and GTFO.

So Gina, as many before her, and many after her, came to stumble upon an unavoidable Phnom Penh dating syndrome – the Hidden Girlfriend. Most commonly disguised as a distant lover in an open relationship, the Hidden Girlfriend can also be disguised as the “ex”-girlfriend. “Ex” in the sense of “we only broke up because I left for PP and we still love each other.”

Gina, a Phnom Penh new comer, shocked and disgusted, seeks counsel with her older, wiser more Phnom Penh acclimatized sisters.

The counsel laugh at Gina’s naivety.

One lady exhales blue ara cigarette smoke as she calmly says “Action’s action, you’re lucky you got that far.” Gina now knows she was fortunate to find out about Tim’s other half (or third, or quarter) through his honesty – the standard medium for unveiling the Hidden Girlfriend is usually profound Facebook stalking. And thus Gina enters the minefield that is unmarked men – no red, green or hidden girlfriend lighting.

Toto – you’re not in Kansas anymore. Welcome to the Phnom Penh dating scene.