Brett Battles

The Pull of Gravity

CHAPTER ONE

I couldn’t help feeling a sense of failure. On the surface, I’d accomplished what I’d come back to the Philippines to do. The sale of my stake in a bar in Angeles City had been finalized three days ago. Sure, the money wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped, but when is it ever? I was just glad to get it over with. With the bar sold, presumably my last tie to the Philippines was gone.

But Nicky Valenti, one of my ex-pat friends who still lived there, said something the night before I was supposed to leave Angeles and the islands forever that changed my plans. “I hear Isabel’s on Boracay,” he told me. That was it. One small nugget dropped into a larger conversation about nothing. I didn’t ask who he heard this from, or even if the information was reliable.

The truth was, in the few days I’d been back in Angeles, I’d found myself glancing into the faces of the girls as they passed me on the street, wondering if I might spot Isabel Reyes. When I didn’t, I felt a sense of relief. Three years earlier, she’d returned to her home province. Maybe, just maybe, she’d stayed. It would have been the best thing for her. But if Nicky was right, she hadn’t stayed. Instead, she’d come back to the life.

It was the money, most likely. Or perhaps life back home had become unbearable. Probably both. Whatever the reason, my heart sank a little knowing she was working again. Yet, selfishly, I couldn’t also help but feel that maybe I’d be able to find the answers to the questions that still plagued me, and that the memories I lived with every day might finally be put to rest.

If Isabel was on Boracay Island, I had to find her.

After I said goodbye to Nicky, I went back to my hotel room and made a call to Bangkok.

“I need to stay a little longer,” I said into my cell phone. “A few days. Maybe a week at most.”

“Of course,” Natt told me. She didn’t sound surprised.

When I was through explaining to her what had transpired while I was in Angeles, she said, “Take as long as you need. It’s okay.”

“You know I have to do this,” I said.

“I know. I want you to. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

“I know that, too.” I could almost hear her smiling through the phone.

“Phom rak khun,” I said.

“I love you, too.”

I left the following morning for Boracay.

For the next three days I looked for Isabel without success. Though the island wasn’t that large, there were plenty of opportunities for us to miss each other. My search could have gone on for weeks, and the results would have been the same, but I just couldn’t bring myself to give up. Not yet.

Two more days, I decided. If I couldn’t find her by then, I’d know it just wasn’t meant to be.

A day and a half later I was tired and depressed and annoyed at my continued failure. Instead of searching the streets again, I decided I needed a break and went for a quick dip in the ocean. The water was warm and inviting, and I felt my stress drop a notch. I swam for twenty minutes, then stretched out on the beach, and absently flipped through the pages of a magazine I’d taken from my hotel. My mind finally began to accept that it was time to stop this fruitless search and go home.

I guess that was why, as I watched the beautiful girl walk down the shore toward me, that I didn’t realize it was Isabel until she walked past.

An avalanche of memories cascaded through my mind. Isabel at the bar. Isabel, Larry and I on a shopping trip to Manila. Larry and I playing pool down at The Eight Ball.

By the time I recovered, she’d picked a spot not twenty feet away and laid out a towel. She wasn’t alone, of course. There was a guy with her, another member of the Fat White Guys Brigade. He put his towel on the beach next to hers. Instead of sitting, he kind of half fell on his ass, grunting loudly as he did. When he talked to her, I couldn’t make out the words but I detected an accent. German, maybe, or Dutch.

After a few minutes, Isabel, lying on her stomach with her chin propped up on her hands, began casually looking around the beach. No doubt she was checking to see if there was anyone around she knew. Her eyes paused on me for a second. I probably looked vaguely familiar, but when she couldn’t place me, she continued on.

It wasn’t surprising. We hadn’t seen each other since she left Angeles. Back then, I was also a member of the brigade. The Jay Bradley that Isabel knew was an obese slob who thought he was “just a little heavy.” His hair was a brown bush that always needed a trim. Sometimes he shaved, sometimes he didn’t. And then there was his uniform: dark blue cargo shorts that reached below his knees, and a T-shirt, either black or maroon. That former Jay had a dozen T-shirts of each color and three pairs of the shorts.

That was Philippine Jay. Three years gone and good riddance.

By the time Isabel glanced at me that afternoon, I’d lost nearly eighty pounds. My hair was shorter, too. Close-cropped and a hell of a lot more gray. Yet even with the gray, I looked younger. I’d been working out, and, for the first time in nearly forty years, I was in shape. As far as wardrobe, Bangkok Jay had no maroon or black T-shirts, and the only shorts he wore were khaki.

But Isabel looked nearly unchanged. A few years older, sure, but when you were talking about going from twenty-three to twenty-six, that really didn’t mean much. Her thick, black hair was about the same length as I remembered, reaching just below her shoulder blades. She was around five foot three and slim as ever. Her skin was a few shades darker than I recalled, but living so close to the beach now undoubtedly accounted for that.

I guess the most shocking thing to me was that she was showing a lot of skin. The Isabel I knew wouldn’t have been caught dead outside in a bikini. But here on the beautiful Boracay beach she was wearing a white two-piece suit that only covered what it was supposed to.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen her in a bikini before. She’d often worn one inside the bar, but that was work. Outside the bar, it had been strictly one-piece suits if she decided to swim in public at all.

Her face was still her best feature. Larry once told me every time he looked at her, time stopped. I told him he was full of shit, but I knew what he meant. She had large, dark eyes, with lids that seemed to open only halfway. And when she smiled, her whole face lit up.

Yet there was something different about her now. Her…softness was gone. Well, maybe not softness, exactly. Her innocence. That was it. Her innocence had been wiped away. She looked harder now, had more of an edge. And my guess was that when she smiled these days, it was most likely calculated and lacked the spontaneity Larry had loved. It wasn’t much of a stretch to guess what had triggered the change.

Seeing her, I knew now more than ever that she and I needed to talk. Because Larry was dead, and the dead lived only through the memories of their friends and family. Larry had no family, and as far as I knew, Isabel and I were his only close friends.

I continued to read my magazine while keeping an eye on Isabel and her European friend. I should have realized before I came back to the Philippines that Boracay would be the obvious location to find her. It had always been her favorite place. The first time she came here was with Larry, of course. I had been on that trip, too, though I wasn’t the important one.

Around four o’clock, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. By this point I’d finished with the magazine and was absently watching a couple of kids playing in the surf. I glanced in Isabel’s direction. She and her foreigner friend were folding up their towels, finished with their afternoon in the sun. After a few moments, they headed back the way they’d come.

Once they were far enough away, I pushed myself to my feet, gave my towel a quick shake, then pulled on my T-shirt and followed.

Not too far up the beach, they turned into the White Sands Resort. I’d stayed there myself once. The small resort was designed so guests didn’t feel like they were staying at any old hotel. Individual grass-roofed “huts” surrounded a central main building and swimming pool-the perfect place to bring your family, wife, or new Filipina girlfriend.

I closed the gap a little and followed them past the pool, toward the huts to the right of the main building. At number 23, the fat guy unlocked the door and they went inside.

I made my way back to the bar next to the pool and ordered a Coke. I wasn’t sure what I should do next. After all, I couldn’t just walk up, knock on their door and ask, “Can Isabel come out and talk?”

When I’d been sitting alone in my hotel room in Angeles, finding Isabel seemed like the hard part. But now that I had found her, I realized the talking would be the most difficult. Would she really want to revisit a past she’d probably spent the last few years trying to forget? Just because I’d been unable to dull the memories didn’t mean she’d been having the same problem. Was it even fair of me to put her through that?

As I put my empty glass back down on the bar, I’d all but decided my being here was a mistake. Let her live her life, and you go on living yours, buddy.

I put a hundred pesos in the cup on the bar in front of me and left.

The next morning I woke thinking about home. If I left Boracay by noon, I could catch a flight out of Manila that evening. I had a new life in Thailand, and I was anxious to get back to it. I could actually wake up in my own bed tomorrow. A phone call to Thai Airways confirmed there was a flight that night with a few seats available. But when the operator asked if I wanted to purchase a ticket, I hesitated.

As much as I wanted to be done with the Philippines, I knew if I didn’t at least try to talk to Isabel, I never would be. And that wouldn’t be fair to my new life, to Natt. Instead of booking a flight for that night, I made a reservation for one leaving two days later. That should be enough time, I thought, to find her, to talk to her. Assuming, of course, she’d talk to me.

I’d lived in the Philippines for six years, all in Angeles City. For a while, I had planned on spending the rest of my life there. But things changed.

I changed.

So I escaped while I had the opportunity, because if I hadn’t, I would still be one of the old, fat, dumb white guys. Or, rather, older and fatter and dumber…and drunker.

Bangkok was my home now. I’d found a wife there. We owned a couple of struggling English-style pubs. We were even talking about having a child. I had begun to regain myself, as much as I could, anyway.

When I got the call about the offer for my stake in the bar, I talked about it with my wife. Natt knew what my life had been like in the Philippines. She knew what I used to do. I’d told her everything before we got married. So, though it probably shouldn’t have, it surprised me when she said I should return to the island and finalize the deal. When I then suggested she come with me, she kissed me and said one of us needed to stay and take care of the business. What she was really saying was, “You need to go on your own. Do what you need to do, then come back to me whole.”

Contrary to popular belief back on Fields Avenue in Angeles City, Isabel and I never slept together. Our relationship wasn’t like that. In truth, there was something about her that reminded me of Lily, my stepdaughter-former stepdaughter, that is. Lily had been the best part of my marriage to Maureen. It had hurt her so much when her mother and I divorced that she had to be pried off me the day I said goodbye. It still hurt me every time I thought about that.

The normal age for girls to start work in the bars along Fields was eighteen, but Isabel arrived in Angeles at the ancient age of twenty-one. I think it was her smile that reminded me most of Lily, that and her innocence. I guess that’s why I took her under my wing. For the first several months, I was able to steer her away from anything too harmful. Until Larry showed up.

On Boracay the next morning, I ate breakfast around eight a.m. at the small hotel where I was staying, then set out to find Isabel. When I arrived at the White Sands Resort, I did a quick walk-through of all the common areas but there was no sign of her or her friend. I guess I didn’t expect it to be that easy, but I had hoped.

I ordered a tall glass of orange juice from the outside bar and took a seat next to the pool, hoping Isabel and her date would make an appearance. By then, it was after nine a.m., and half a dozen others were eating in the restaurant. As was my habit since arriving on the island, I was wearing my swimsuit under my shorts, so after I finished my juice, I decided to go for a dip.

It was sometime during my sixth or seventh lap when I saw Isabel’s friend walk by. At first I thought he was alone, but a moment later, one of the hotel staff followed, lugging a large suitcase. No Isabel. I pulled myself out of the water, toweled off quickly, threw on my shirt and shorts, then made my way after him.

The fat man was in the final process of checking out when I caught up to him. I recognized his accent now-Dutch. And this close to him, I realized I’d seen him before. His name was Henrik or Hendrik or something like that. He used to be a once-or-twice-a-year visitor to Angeles, and I assumed he still was. Like many of the regular visitors, I had bought him a few beers back in the day. But while I knew who he was, there was no way he would recognize me.

As he turned to leave, I took an innocent step to the side, blocking his way.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. As I stepped out of his way, our eyes met. “Aren’t you…? Yeah.” I grinned. “You’re the guy who was with that real beauty last night.”

He returned my grin, but said nothing.

“You leave her sleeping back in the room?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Just checked out.”

I nodded in comprehension. “There’s always the next trip, right?”

“Right.”

He headed for the front door.

“Hey,” I called out just before he exited. “You mind letting me know where you found her?”

He stopped and looked back, grinning again. “Angie’s,” he told me. “Her name is Crystal.”

I knew exactly where Angie’s was. It wasn’t really a go-go bar. They didn’t officially have those on the island. It was just a bar that happened to be frequented by girls who’d go home with a guy for the right price. If Isabel had indeed returned to the life, it would be the logical place to find her. I had actually paid Angie’s a visit the first night I arrived but Isabel hadn’t been there. It looked like I’d be making another visit.

By Angeles standards, the place came in on the low end of the scale. Small, unpolished, even dirty. When I walked in, the latest pop-music crap blared from several speakers mounted on the walls. The only other person present was the bartender, a woman who looked to be in her thirties, with hot pink lipstick and her hair in pigtails in an attempt to look younger. To me it only made her look sad. A former dancer, no doubt, forced to move on to other duties.

I sat on a stool toward the middle of the bar and ordered a San Miguel Light. I didn’t drink that often anymore, but I didn’t want to look out of place.

“Nice bar,” I said, after she put the bottle in front of me.

Just like Angeles, there was an insulated beer holder wrapped around the bottom of the bottle and a napkin wrapped around the open top. The idea was to use the napkin to wipe off the lip of the bottle before taking your first drink.

“Your first time here?” she asked as she began stacking glasses on the back bar.

“A buddy told me about it. Thought I’d check it out.” I raised my bottle and took a drink.

“You have lots of fun here. Don’t worry,” she said. “Girls come out soon.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Daisy.”

“Not a very Filipina name.”

She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled, then returned to her work.

“I’m Jay.”

“Hi, Jay.”

Letting her work in silence for a bit, I sipped my beer and took in the room. The walls looked as though they hadn’t been painted in years. Whatever the original color was, I had no idea, but now they were an unappealing water-stain brown.

“Is it always this quiet?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. More people be here soon.”

True to her prediction, two girls appeared in the doorway at the back of the bar. They looked at me and smiled, but after a second they disappeared the way they’d come.

I took another drink, finishing off my beer, then put the bottle on the bar. Empties had a very distinctive sound when they knocked against something solid. As I’d hoped, Daisy turned toward me almost immediately.

“You want another?” she asked.

“That would be great.”

She brought me a new bottle.

“My friend told me about a girl he met here,” I said. “What was her name? Christine, Christa, something like that.”

“Crystal?” Daisy asked.

“That could have been it.”

She smiled. “She’s here. Come out in a little bit.”

Ten minutes passed, and I was joined at the bar by two Brits who looked paler than I thought humans could get. We exchanged hellos and they started talking to each other about their plans for the evening. A moment later, the girls finally started coming out.

There were ten of them, all but two dressed in short, Hawaiian-print wrap skirts and red bikini tops. The other two wore white shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest and short black skirts. From experience, I knew these last were the waitresses and the other girls the dancers.

I picked out Isabel almost immediately. She was a dancer, and by far the best-looking of the bunch. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The two Brits gestured in her direction and whispered to each other.

I called the bartender over. “Which one is Crystal?” I asked.

Daisy looked past me until she spotted Isabel. “That’s her,” she said, pointing. “You want me to call her over?”

“Please.”

“Crystal,” Daisy called out. Because of the loud music, she had to do it twice before Isabel looked over. When she did, Daisy pointed at me.

Isabel gave me a quick look, then affixed what I guessed was a working smile on her face and headed over. When she was only a couple of feet way, she hesitated for a split second before continuing toward me. I could feel the two Brits looking in our direction, undoubtedly cursing themselves for not moving more quickly.

Isabel didn’t stop until her leg rubbed against mine.

“Hello,” she said. She held her hand out to me, and we shook. “I’m Crystal.”

Her voice was almost exactly as I remembered it. Soft and kind. But there was also an edge to it now that hadn’t been there when I knew her before, a phoniness. She’d become hardened, and I was just another potential money source, a random guy in a long line of faceless, nameless men who represented nothing more than cash and the passage of time.

“Hi, Isabel,” I said. “It’s Jay.”

I could feel her stiffen as I said her real name, then she stepped away from me. Her eyes searched my face, looking for something recognizable.

“Jay,” she finally said, her voice so low I could barely hear her.

As she took another step backward, tears began welling in her eyes and she subconsciously raised an arm to cover her bikini top. She tried to say something, but nothing passed her lips. Not quite the greeting I expected.

“You look good,” I said, keeping my tone light.

I could see the woman she’d become struggling to reassert herself, the hardened bar girl immune to almost anything. But I knew her before, when she was just Isabel Reyes straight from the provinces. There was no immunity to what I represented. After a moment, she realized this, too. She let out a sudden, violent sob as tears streaked down her cheeks, then she turned and ran for the back door.

CHAPTER TWO

My memory of when I first met Larry was more his than mine. It was a story he liked to tell when he visited and others were around. It had happened at The Pit Stop, out by the pool.

Meeting Isabel, though, I remembered with complete clarity.

It was a Thursday night, Luau night at The Lounge, when all the girls were dressed in Hawaiian-print bikinis, Mai Tais were half off, and between five and seven p.m. we served a free buffet of pork, pineapple and papaya. Mariella was the one who brought Isabel into the bar. She was Isabel’s cousin. Two months later, Mariella left to work at a different bar, but at that time she was still one of ours.

The Lounge wasn’t the largest bar on Fields Avenue, but it wasn’t the smallest, either. We had a five-foot-wide stage running down the center of the room, bar-style seating on all four sides, and cushioned booths along the right wall. The left side was dominated by the bar itself, manned on any given night by three to five female bartenders. The only male employees visible were Alphonso the busboy and me. It wasn’t men the customers came in to see, after all.

The owner of The Lounge was an Aussie named Robbie Bainbridge, who only came to the Philippines about four times a year. The day-to-day operations were left to me, Tommy Wesson and Dandy Doug, The Lounge’s three papasans. At least, that was the plan. In reality, I was the de facto bar manager, the other two guys more than happy to leave all the important decisions to me.

When Robbie bought the place, he decided to do a complete redesign, and had the interior done up in bright pinks and silvers. “Like lipstick in metal containers,” he’d explained to me. “Sexy.” The booths, the stool tops, and the padded rim around the bar were all covered in pink vinyl, while the stool legs, the poles on the stage, and the trim that ran along the top of the walls were all chrome.

As was the custom in bars along Fields, there was one other prominent chrome item in the room. A bell one foot in diameter hung from the ceiling in the front corner. The walls of the bar were mostly covered with mirrors, and the names of customers who’d rung the bell were painted on the surface-in our case-in fluorescent pink.

9/3/06 Harlan “Scooter” Stevens

9/5/06 The Twig Gang from Melbourne

9/5/06 John S. for Nelly

9/6/06 Mark and Susie, last night in Paradise

On and on the names went, taking up nearly two-thirds of the allotted wall space. For fifteen minutes or so, these bell ringers were the bar’s most popular customers, because to ring it meant you were buying drinks for all the girls. Depending on the bar, the tab could run between 3500 and 5500 pesos, which at the time was about 60 or 70 U.S. dollars. It was a little pricey, but for that moment the ringer was king. The only one who probably felt better was the papasan because the profit margin was huge. That bell ringing was always music to my ears.

On that particular night, just after Mariella introduced me to Isabel, a guy from Wisconsin got up and gave the bell a whack. As usual, all hell broke loose. The girls stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to their new best friend. Screams of delight, a lot of pointing and excited chatter ensued. Even the music blasting from the state-of-the-art speakers seemed louder.

I nodded to the bartenders to set up the rounds. At The Lounge we went with watered-down shots of tequila for the girls and a straight shot for the ringer. Once they started pouring, I went over and shook the hand of our next addition to the wall of fame.

“You’re sure going to make a few friends here tonight,” I told him as I pulled a small pad of paper and a pen out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Write down your name and what you want it to say on the wall.” I smiled and pointed at where the list currently ended. “We’ll get you up in a day or so.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning.

He was drunk, of course. Few people on Fields weren’t by nine p.m., men or women. But he seemed sober enough to enjoy the moment, and I felt confident he’d remember it in the morning. I got his shirt size, and had Alphonso go in back and grab him one of our Lounge T-shirts. In the meantime, the girls were collecting their free shots and making their way over to Wisconsin to plant a kiss on his cheek, another one of our little Lounge customs.

As things started settling down again to a normal level of chaos, I returned to my usual position at the far end of the bar near the back of the room. From there I could keep an eye on everything. I had Wilma, one of the bartenders, get me another San Miguel, and as I was taking my first sip, I noticed Mariella and Isabel standing at the other end of the bar. Isabel scanned the room, eyes wide in what could only be surprise, while Mariella spoke into her ear. Behind them on the bar were two empty shot glasses.

I had to laugh. Technically, since this was Mariella’s night off, she shouldn’t have been given a drink, and Isabel, someone I didn’t know at that point and therefore not an employee, shouldn’t have even been offered one.

Few at the bar could say no to Mariella, though. It wasn’t that she was universally liked, rather the sense of entitlement she oozed intimidated the other girls. Her reputation was further boosted by the fact she was one of the lucky ones. She’d set her hooks in a foreigner deeply enough so that he sent her money every month. Not quite the jackpot of a guy who’d marry her and take her back to his country, but a close second. Mariella’s “boyfriend” was an English guy who made it to the Philippines only once a year. She never told me how much she got from him, but the rumor was she received enough to not have to work in the bars anymore. One of the girls said he was even planning on buying Mariella a place of her own.

He was probably sitting in his office in Manchester or Cheltenham or London or wherever the hell he called home, thinking he’d created a new, better life for Mariella, that he’d freed her from the madness that was the scene in Angeles. Maybe he even thought she was going to college now, or a trade school at least. Anything that would have kept her from having to spread her legs for a living.

But guys like him just didn’t get it. Once you fell into the life, it was hard to ever get out. It was better than a drug. The booze, the party, the adoration, the cash. So while Mr. England was thinking he’d “saved” Mariella, she was actually out almost every night, trawling for another guy she could add to her collection.

I don’t mean to say some of the girls couldn’t get out of the life. With the help of their foreign boyfriends, many did. Still, the sad truth was there were many more girls like Mariella there.

When she noticed I was looking at them, she smiled and motioned with her hands in a way that said, “Can we come over?”

I nodded, and a moment later they joined me. Mariella introduced her cousin as I took another pull from my beer. There was no need to tell me why she had brought Isabel over. It was for a job. That’s how it always was. Girls who worked in the bars would bring in relatives or girls they knew from back home, then they in turn would eventually bring in other girls. You get the idea.

I gave Isabel a once-over, and was immediately struck by her innocence. It almost made me tell her to go back to her province and get a shop job. Perhaps if I’d thought she would listen to me, I would have. But I knew the reality was that if I made the suggestion Mariella would have just taken her to another bar, and within a few days Isabel would’ve been working on Fields despite any attempt on my part to “save” her. So I fooled myself into believing that at least if she worked at The Lounge, her innocence wouldn’t get ripped away so violently.

“What did you say your name was?” I asked.

“Her name is Isabel,” Mariella said. “She’s my cousin.”

“You’re looking for a job?”

“Yes. She is,” Mariella answered.

“What kind of job? Bartender? Waitress? Door girl? Dancer?”

“Dancer, I think,” Mariella said. “It’s a good place to start.”

I looked at Mariella. “Does she talk?”

Mariella moved a hand to her mouth and let out a little laugh. “Sorry, Papa Jay,” she said, then turned to her cousin. “Tell him what you want to do.”

Isabel, who had yet to look me in the eyes, glanced up quickly then returned her gaze to the floor. “I would like to be a dancer,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Have you ever danced before?”

She looked at me again, this time holding my gaze for almost two seconds before shaking her head and looking away.

“I’ve been working with her,” Mariella jumped in. “Teaching her a few moves. Explaining to her how the job works. “

“Really?” I said. I put a finger under Isabel’s chin and lifted her face up. “Why don’t you tell me how you think things work here?”

At first I thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but finally she spoke, her voice stronger than before. “I dance. Like them,” she said, nodding toward the stage where a dozen girls were gyrating with varying degrees of enthusiasm to the music. “If a customer wants to talk to me, I go sit with them.” I removed my finger from under her chin, but she continued to look at me. “If they buy me a drink, I get half the money. If they want to take me out of the bar, they pay bar fine and I get a share of that. If they want to give me a tip, it’s all mine.”

My eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“So you’re not a cherry girl?” I asked. Cherry girl was a term that meant pretty much what it sounded like-a girl who hadn’t had sex and, therefore, wouldn’t go all the way with a customer. Occasionally, it also meant a girl who might have had sex but not for pay.

Isabel’s eyes flicked over at Mariella, then back at me. “No. Not a cherry girl.”

“Of course not,” Mariella jumped in again. “She know how to boom-boom good.”

“Bullshit,” I said. I got up quickly and walked around the corner into the men’s room to take a piss. As I was in the middle of things, Mariella walked in.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe she is a cherry girl, but her family needs money, di ba? She’ll be good worker. She won’t cause you problems. Come on, Papa Jay, you know she’ll be popular.”

“Can I finish peeing, please?” I asked.

“Sure, sure. We wait for you at the bar.”

Alone again, I zipped up, then washed my hands in the sink. Mariella was right. Isabel would be very popular. I knew that the moment I saw her. There were different levels of beauty on Fields, and Isabel would be right there near the top. Depending on how she adapted, she had the chance of becoming a superstar.

I wasn’t surprised when I walked back out into the bar and found two guys talking to Mariella and Isabel. I was even less surprised when it appeared both of the guys seemed more interested in Isabel than her cousin. Mariella at first appeared proud of this, but then, when neither of the guys answered one of her questions, she looked confused, then angry. I was the only one who noticed, though. A moment later she was happy, professional Mariella again.

I watched for a few more seconds, then walked up and told Isabel’s admirers I needed to talk to the girls. The guys seemed annoyed, but once they realized I was the papasan, and I offered them a round on the house, they backed down. I then moved the girls to a quieter portion of the bar.

“You can’t start until you have your papers,” I said to Isabel.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Mariella said. “Get everything done.”

“We’ll start you next week,” I said. “Wednesday okay?”

Both of the girls nodded.

“A hundred pesos a day, plus your share of lady drinks and EWRs.”

Isabel looked confused.

“Early work release,” Mariella explained. “Same as bar fine.”

“Thank you,” Isabel said. “Thank you so much.”

“Are you staying with Mariella?”

“Only for now,” Mariella said. “Once she meets some of the girls I think it would be good for her to move in with them. Make new friends, di ba?”

More likely Mariella didn’t want her pretty cousin cramping her style. I smiled and said, “Okay.”

“Thank you, Papa Jay,” Mariella said.

“Thank you, Papa Jay,” Isabel echoed.

They headed for the door, but before they got there one of Mariella’s friends ran up and started talking to her.

“Isabel,” I called out. She turned and looked back at me. “I just want you to know you don’t have to go out on a bar fine with anyone if you don’t want to. And even if you do, you don’t have to boom-boom.”

There was relief in the smile she gave me. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

That had been six years earlier. It was almost as if it was a story from someone else’s life. Philippine Jay’s, not mine.

Almost.

CHAPTER THREE

I found Isabel huddled on the floor in a back room at Angie’s. Though I’d never been in this particular room before, the surroundings were familiar. It was a changing room, lit by two bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and littered with piles of clothes and shoes. The only furnishings were three well-worn chairs and a chipped full-length mirror that leaned against the wall next to the door.

“What are you doing? You can’t be in here.” The voice came from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw another Filipina who was probably the unofficial mamasan.

Customers were never allowed in the back. I knew this rule only too well, but at that moment I didn’t care.

Ignoring the question, I moved quickly across the room and knelt next to Isabel. “It’s okay. It’s only me,” I said softly.

“I call the police if you don’t leave now!” the mamasan yelled.

I whipped my head around, and glared at her, my face hard as stone. “Then call them.”

The woman, a little fireplug who had to be pushing fifty, turned and rattled off something in Tagalog to one of the girls standing behind her. After so much time, my command of the local tongue was rusty, but I knew she never mentioned police. After she finished, the girl turned and pushed her way through a group of other girls who’d apparently also been following us.

“Isabel,” I said, returning my attention to her. “It’s just Jay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know who you are,” she sobbed.

The mamasan fired off another string of Tagalog, this time directed at Isabel. Rusty or not, I was able to pick up a little. “What does this something something want?” Her meaning would have been clear even if I hadn’t understood any of it. She was blaming Isabel for my presence.

I turned back to her, willing myself to remember the right words, then said with authority, “Police ako. Umalis ka dyan.” Basically I told her I was with the police and to leave us the hell alone. It was a handy phrase, and one of the first bits of Tagalog I’d learned when I started working in the Philippines.

I was sure she didn’t buy it. I looked about as Filipino as the pope, but she was smart enough not to take a chance. She gave me one last glare then turned and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Isabel, still huddled in the corner, was looking at me now. There was no fear in her eyes. What I saw was shame.

I guess I should have expected her reaction. Even though our whole history together had been spent in and around bars just like Angie’s, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t just her former papasan, I was her past. I was someone who’d known she’d gotten out of the game, a member of her surrogate family, for God’s sake. And I’d just walked in and found her working at a bar again.

I held out a hand, careful not to actually touch her. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m your friend, remember? I’m just happy to see you.”

Maybe it was that last thing that did it, or maybe she just had more shame than she could bear on her own. Instead of taking my hand, she fell into me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and burying her head in my shoulder. The sobs and tears started again, only this time the surprise of being discovered was gone. These were tears of resignation.

When her crying subsided again, I asked, “Where are your clothes?”

She nodded toward a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt folded neatly against the wall and sitting beside an expensive-looking pair of shoes. It was in the small things that the girls tried to retain some of their dignity.

“Why don’t you put them on?” I said.

Though I’d seen her nude at The Lounge hundreds of times before, I turned my back as she changed. This wasn’t The Lounge, and we weren’t those people anymore.

“I’m ready,” she said in a voice stronger than I had expected.

I turned around and smiled, then held out my hand. “Let’s go.”

The mamasan and most of the girls were standing in the hallway as we left. There were two new arrivals with them-scrawny, unsmiling Filipino guys trying to look tough. I could have taken either of them easily, maybe even both together, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. The mamasan shouted a question in Tagalog, then Isabel said something that sent a murmur through the dancers gathered behind Mama. There was another exchange between the older woman and Isabel. Then, after a tense moment of silence, the mamasan let out a sigh of exasperation, then turned and pushed the girls out of her way as she stomped off toward the bar.

The girls that remained parted as I led Isabel in the same direction. Several giggled as we passed. One touched Isabel on the shoulder, and asked her in English, “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” Isabel said.

As we entered the main room, I could see the mamasan standing near the bar. She pretended to not even notice us as we walked toward the exit.

“Sorry if I got you in trouble,” I said as I opened the front door.

“I can handle it,” Isabel replied. She slipped outside and I followed.

It was early still, barely seven p.m., but the sky was already growing dark.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She shrugged and leaned against me. The ordeal of seeing me again had weakened her. To a casual observer, she probably looked like my girlfriend for the evening. I certainly wasn’t the only Western guy with a beautiful Filipina on his arm.

“How about some spaghetti?” I suggested. It had once been her favorite food.

She smiled, real this time, or as real as she could muster. Still, some habits were hard to break, and instead of saying yes, she said, “It’s up to you.”

I took her to The Rendezvous, one of several Italian restaurants on the island. There were few customers, so we had our choice of tables.

Now that she was sitting across from me, I didn’t know what to say. Though I knew a lot about Isabel and Larry’s time together, I’d only been a tangential player in their story. It was my desire to know the rest that had taken me back to Boracay, back to Isabel, but did I have any right asking her about it?

Finally, I just said, “Feeling better?”

She sighed, then took a sip of the wine we’d ordered before she answered. “Maybe I cannot go back to Angie’s.”

I smiled. “You know how mamasans are. Tell her you’ll slip her a few extra pesos from your next date and she’ll forget everything.”

I’d been trying to make light of the moment, but it wasn’t the right thing to say. The second I alluded to her profession, I could see her pulling back into her shell.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m your ‘big bro,’ remember?” I said, using one of the names she used to call me.

She smiled a little at that. “What was it they used to say back in Angeles?” she asked. “‘You can take the girl out of the bar…’ Something like that?”

“‘You can take the girl out of the bar, but you can’t take the bar out of the girl.’”

“I guess I’m proof you can’t even take the girl out of the bar.”

She flashed me another smile, but I could see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes again. I could have lied to her, and told her she wasn’t like that, but she would have known I wasn’t telling the truth.

“So then why are you working again?”

She snorted. “Why does any girl work at a bar?”

“Because the dancing outfits are so cute?”

She picked up her napkin and threw it at me, laughing a little as she did so. “You’re crazy.”

“A little bit,” I said, falling into a scripted banter we’d played out many times years ago.

“More than a little bit,” she replied, following suit.

“Then someone better come take me away, because I’m not going to change.”

We both laughed loudly, causing several customers to look over.

“See how you are?” she said. It was a playful phrase bar girls used all the time, only I’d never heard it come out of Isabel’s mouth before.

I reached over and placed my hand on top of hers. “It’s really good to see you, Isabel.”

She looked at me, her face suddenly serious again. “It’s really good to see you, too, big bro.”

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” she said when we finished eating. In the same amount of time she managed to put away half a basket of bread and a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs, I only finished half of my penne arrabbiata.

I smiled, “You were pretty hungry.”

“No lunch today,” she explained.

I put some money on the table, and we left.

“What now?” she asked as we stepped into the warm Philippine evening.

“Thought maybe we’d go over to my hotel.”

She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Just to talk, baby sis.” I held up my left hand. “I’m a married man now.”

“What?” she asked as she hit me on the shoulder as hard as she could. “I thought that was just something to keep the girls from falling in love with you.”

“Nope. The real thing.”

“Let me see.”

She grabbed at my hand before I even had a chance to hold it out again, then she bent down to take a close look at the band that circled my finger.

“White gold?” she asked, looking up at me.

I nodded.

She turned her attention back to the ring. “The design looks Asian.”

“Thai,” I said.

“Thai?” She sounded like she didn’t understand me.

“My wife is Thai.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “A bar girl.”

“No. A businesswoman.” Natt had never been a bar girl.

We walked in silence, Isabel seemingly lost in thought. After a while, she said, “Why you married a Thai girl? Why not Filipina?”

I shrugged. “She was the one I fell in love with.”

True enough, but there was more to it than that. Like my desire when I moved away from the islands to get everything Filipino out of my system, so that maybe I’d live past my sixtieth birthday. The Philippines had been like a drug that sucked me in and numbed my senses. I didn’t trust myself to break the habit any other way than cold turkey.

My answer seemed to satisfy her, though, and we walked on quietly for a few more blocks.

As we approached my hotel, a playful smile creased her face. “So where is she?”

“Who?”

“Your wife.”

“At home,” I said. “In Bangkok.”

“Bangkok?” she said surprised. “How long you been there?”

“A few years.”

She considered this for a moment. “This wife, does she know you are here?”

“Of course she does.”

“But does she know why?”

I laughed, and said yes.

She stopped and looked at me, eyes wide. “Your wife let you come here to have sex with Filipinas?”

I gently pushed on her shoulder to get us moving again. “I’m not here to have sex with Filipinas.”

It was her turn to laugh. And why not? She’d seen thousands of men come through Angeles and now Boracay, all of them, to one extent or another, arriving with the common goal of getting laid.

“If not boom-boom, then why did you come here?” she asked.

Boom-boom was bar girl slang for sex. I hadn’t heard it in over two years, and it made me pause a second before answering. “Business,” I told her.

She looked at me, raising her eyebrows. I explained how I had tried to sell my share in The Lounge before I’d moved away, but with no luck. It wasn’t until recently that I’d finally received a decent enough offer.

At the hotel, I took her over to the bar that overlooked the beach, and bought a bottle of wine. We situated ourselves at a table as far away from everyone else as possible. I could feel memories and feelings and habits from the years I had spent in Angeles straining to reassert themselves. But I had boxed them up pretty tight, so even if there was a slip here and there, I knew I could keep them in check.

We talked for a while about life on Boracay, how it was different than living in her province, and definitely different than her life in Angeles. We didn’t touch on her job except in the most general terms.

When we were halfway through the bottle, she said, “You said you were here on business. That explains Angeles, but…are you in Boracay on business, too?”

Just beyond the bar, the waves crashed rhythmically on the beach. Out on the sea, I could see the lights of a ship heading back to the main island. I watched for several seconds as they dipped and rose through the swells before I turned back to Isabel.

“No,” I told her. “I came here to find you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I poured the remainder of the wine into Isabel’s glass, filling it nearly to the brim.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked.

I smiled and set the bottle back down. I didn’t have to get her drunk; she was doing a fine job of it on her own. I, on the other hand, was still nursing my second glass.

There were nights back on Fields Avenue when it seemed like the only way to forget everything was to drink as much as you could. Everyone did it-the tourists, the ex-pats. The girls, too.

Everyone had their reasons, the girls maybe more than anyone. Sometimes it was a boyfriend who’d stopped writing to them, other times it was news from home. It could be money, or competition with another girl, or nothing at all. And sometimes they’d come to work and suddenly remember what they did for a living, and start believing the words some of the locals spat at them as they walked by. Puta. Whore. Walanghiya ka talaga.

I had a feeling Isabel was drinking for all of those reasons. I had seen the behavior so many times in other girls, it was like watching a rerun on TV. Everything was predictable-the nervous laughter, tangents into harmless topics, the rapid consumption of wine.

But I also knew she was drinking to put off what she must have figured out I’d come to talk about. Because when I’d said I’d come to find her, the only logical conclusion was that I was there because of Larry. And while neither of us had even mentioned his name yet, I could see him lingering in the shadows in her eyes.

I glanced away, suddenly struck by my own callousness. Yes, talking about Larry would ease my mind, and allow me to put my time in the Philippines behind me forever, but what would talking about him do for her? I’d been blind to my own selfishness, and realized that I couldn’t force my needs onto her. There was something I could do for her, though.

Isabel was in the middle of telling me a meaningless story about one of the other girls at Angie’s. I let her finish, then asked, “Where do you live?”

“What?”

“Your apartment. Is it far?”

“Nothing’s far here.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I said, knowing my hotel room had to be worlds better than where she called home.

“With you?” She sat back in her chair and took a good look at me. “What about your wife?”

I stood up. “Are you coming?”

She sat there unmoving for several seconds. I almost thought she hadn’t heard me, but then she pushed back her chair and got up unsteadily. “Okay.”

An open-air walkway ran around the building. My room was on the second floor facing the ocean. In Hawaii, a view like that would have cost several hundred dollars a night. Here, it was barely forty.

I unlocked my door and pushed it open. Isabel went in first, and I followed. I put my room key into the slot on the wall next to the light switch and turned it. Suddenly the air conditioning unit mounted under the window kicked on. No key, no electricity-an easy way for the hotel to save money.

My room was large, with tile floors, two queen-sized beds, a desk, and a TV mounted on the wall.

“Yours is the one next to the window,” I said.

“Mine?” She reached out to lean against the dresser but missed. I caught her on the way down, and guided her over to her bed so she could sit. “Don’t you want me? You said I was the reason you came here.”

“Not to sleep with you.”

“Then why…?” Her eyes suddenly closed, and she lay back on the bed, her legs still dangling over the edge. “Doc, I don’t feel too well.”

I picked her up and moved her gently to the head of the bed. She said something that sounded like the start of a question, but it soon turned into a groan as her head lolled back. Once she was situated, I removed her shoes, then folded the part of the bedspread she wasn’t lying on over her. Her eyes remained shut, and her breathing became deep and regular.

It was just after eleven p.m., still early by Asian standards. I took a cold bottle of water from the small room refrigerator, and stepped outside onto the breezeway. Leaning against the railing, I listened to the ocean. The sound of rain or waves crashing on a beach always relaxed me, like there was nothing but the here and now. Natt told me that water temporarily awakened the dormant Buddhist she was convinced was sleeping beneath my skin.

I took a drink out of the bottle and chuckled silently to myself.

Isabel had called me Doc. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time. I couldn’t recall ever hearing Isabel call me anything but Papa Jay or big bro. So when she used my old nickname, it was almost as effective in reverting me to my old Angeles self as seeing her again had been. I don’t recall the person who first started calling me that. Only a select few did, ex-pats mainly. To most of the girls I had been Papa Jay or just plain Papa. But Larry had called me Doc. That’s probably where she’d picked it up.

And there he was again.

Larry.

Right in the middle of things, yet a subject avoided at all costs.

The total sum of the time he and I had spent together couldn’t have been much more than a month. But it had been spread over a couple years, and in that time he had somehow become my best friend.

“Fuck you for dying, Larry,” I said softly, then raised my bottle into the air.

My aunt Marla used to like to categorize people.

“She’s a drug addict.” “The only thing important to him is cash.” “He’s an anarchist.” “A hippie.” “A woman hater.” “A man hater.” “Stingy.” “Soft.”

She had hundreds. Within minutes of meeting someone for the first time, she had him locked away in one of her boxes-sized up, figured out and filed away. And no matter what that person did in the future, they were always that “shifty-eyed scammer” or that “loose-legged home wrecker.”

The boxes gave her life structure, but they were harsh and damning. I’m sure her rigidity was responsible for her death.

I’ve often wondered how she would have described me. Not the boy me, because back then I had been her “helpful Jay.” Rather, the forty-eight-year-old me with the thirty-four-year-old Thai wife in Bangkok and a life uncommon behind me. Where would I have fit in on her personal periodic table? My guess is I’d have been her “nasty, whoring, no-good nephew.”

A small part of me used to wonder if I had spent more time with her, would any of her system of universal order have rubbed off on me?

I’m glad I never found out.

My life was already screwed up before I ever got on that plane and moved to the Philippines. I’d spent my career in the Navy basically keeping my head down and not getting into trouble. I never really considered myself a military man, but every time I had to either reenlist or get out, I opted for reenlistment. The truth was, I didn’t really know what else to do. And after a while I was more than halfway to my twenty years and a guaranteed lifetime pension. Getting out at that point seemed stupid. So I traveled the world on large gray ships, and pondered what I’d do when I retired.

About two years before I hit my twenty, while I was stationed in San Diego, I met a girl. Maureen was only twenty-six years old and I was nearly ten years her senior. But she seemed to love me, and I was tired of being alone. The only thing that made me hesitate asking her to marry me was that she had a six-year-old daughter named Lily. I finally decided she was cool enough, so I popped the question to her mother.

It’s funny how things turned out sometimes. We were married for three years. Three miserable, horrible years. Neither of us was more to blame than the other. We were just wrong for each other. And yet when it came time to call it off, the one thing that stopped me was Lily. The girl who had made me pause before proposing to her mother had become an important part of my life. I loved her like she was my own. I still love her.

Lily used to make up these wild stories that maybe I was her real father, but I just couldn’t remember because I had amnesia. I’d play along, and tell her I would go see a doctor, and get an X-ray of my head to be sure. She’d laugh, but there was always a little bit of hope in her eyes.

That last year Maureen got a night job. I guess she thought that if we didn’t see each other as much, maybe everything would be okay. By then, I was no longer in the service, and was only working part-time at a machine shop while taking a few classes at the community college. So evenings became my time with Lily. I helped with her homework, taught her how to play the opening to “Stairway to Heaven” on the guitar, and talked to her about anything she wanted to discuss. Sometimes when it was only the two of us, Lily would even call me Dad.

It was those evenings I really wanted to hold on to. They made me put off thinking about Maureen’s question of whether our marriage was worth the effort. When she got tired of waiting for me to do something, it was Maureen, after pulling Lily out of my arms, who left me.

Over the next six months, Maureen would let me take Lily out for lunch or a movie about once a week. But then my soon-to-be ex-wife met someone else, and my visitation rights were terminated.

Abruptly. With no warning. No goodbye.

For several weeks after that, on my off days, I would sit in my car in front of Lily’s school in the morning and watch as Maureen dropped her off. Then one day Lily stopped on the steps before entering the school, turned, looked across the street to where I was parked and waved. Caught off guard, I could only hold up my hand and wave back.

That was the last time I saw her. After that I thought it was too dangerous to take the chance. One more time and Maureen might have caught me. She might have even called the police and God knows what she would have told them.

I realized then that I had to get out of town. I’d only be miserable if I stayed.

Back in my early Navy days, I’d spent some time at Subic Bay in the Philippines. What struck me most was how cheap everything was. Even back then, there was a thriving ex-pat community made up mainly of former American military men. In the States, their pensions would have let them lead a modest life at most, possibly even forcing them to take another job. But in the Philippines, there was no need for a second job. They could afford a large house in a secured development. They could even afford a full-time cook and maid, and there’d still be money left.

A couple of my buddies had moved to Angeles City several years earlier. It was only a two-hour drive inland from Subic so it seemed like a good idea to join them. My only regret was Lily, but there was nothing I could do.

After I moved to the Philippines, and even later, after I’d started my fourth life in Bangkok, I would send Lily cards and presents on special occasions, and sometimes for no reason at all. I still do. But I’ve been smart enough not to send them to Lily directly. Instead, I’ve always mailed them to Maureen’s sister in Temecula. We had always gotten along and I think she was sad to see me go, so I’ve hoped, when the appropriate time comes, she’ll give everything to Lily.

I’ve often wondered how much Lily really remembers about me now. Perhaps I’ll never know.

I settled down in a three-bedroom house on a half-acre of land that had a built-in swimming pool out back. It was only a couple of blocks from where my friend Hal Dogan lived with his Filipina wife, Dolce.

“I think the real reason people like us come here,” Hal once said to me, “is to disappear.”

And he was right. Angeles City was great for that. Like a black hole, pulling you in and hiding you from the rest of the world.

We spent a lot of time after I first got there barbecuing, drinking, playing cards, watching baseball games on satellite TV, and forgetting about pretty much everything else.

For a time, things were fine, mellow and relaxed. But soon mellow and relaxed became stagnant and bored. And after three months, I began looking for something exciting to do.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was back in the early days-my sailor days-when I’d been introduced to the go-go bars of Subic Bay and Angeles. Those days had been wild with sex shows and naked pool parties and beautiful Filipinas willing to do anything you wanted. And if they really liked you, they’d even do it for free. I was young then, and a lot of it was too much for a small-town boy from Arizona to take. But not all of it.

I couldn’t help it. No one could. If you were a heterosexual male with even a faint pulse, you couldn’t resist the FYBs, short for what Hal called fine young babes. All that flesh, right in your face, and offers coming at you from every direction.

“You take me home, I keep you up all night.”

“Look at my tits, they’re all yours, baby.”

“I like you, baby. I make you really happy.”

They’re smiling and rubbing against you and you’re young and far from home and they’re saying “you’re so cute” and you’re looking at them thinking the same thing and they’re telling you they want to come home with you and you’re wanting exactly that. You can only say no so many times. And once you say yes, it’s all over. You’re hooked. What you don’t realize at the time is your life will never be the same. If anyone asked you, “Have you ever paid for sex?” you might tell them no, but you’d know the truth. And in the eyes of my aunt Marla, and those who thought like her, you were now categorized and forever branded a “sexual deviate.”

When I expressed my newfound boredom to Hal, he told me that he sometimes filled in as a papasan at one of the bars on Fields Avenue. Since my retirement move to Angeles, I had yet to return to the go-go scene. There was no real reason for this. I just hadn’t felt the urge. Maybe my growing weight had something to do with it. Maybe it was how miserably I had failed with Maureen. Whatever the reason, I had all but forgotten about the nightlife that was only a few miles away. So when Hal suggested I come with him one night, I agreed. Anything, I thought, to mix things up a bit.

The bars were pretty much what I remembered. Perhaps there was a bit more neon, a little more polish. But the girls were the same-young, brown and beautiful-and the scene seemed just as crazy as ever. The men were older. There were still some young guys around, but the steady flow of sailors and Marines and airmen was gone with the closures of the American bases. At first I thought it was funny and a bit sad, these middle-aged-and-older men looking for comfort from girls half their age and sometimes younger. I had always thought it was a sign of youth to fall prey to these desires, but that these older men were true sexual deviants.

Only then, as I sat in the bar as one of those older men, watching the girls, chatting with them, laughing with them, and talking with the men, too-men who back home in the U.S. or Australia or England or wherever they were from had regular jobs and regular lives-I began to think maybe I was wrong.

One of Hal’s friends came by the bar around ten p.m. He was a barrel-chested Aussie named Robbie Bainbridge. Robbie and I hit it off right from the start, and we spent several hours drinking and talking about everything from how to make a perfect margarita to the political situation in nearby Malaysia.

When it was time for him to leave, he threw a thousand pesos on the bar and told the bartender to keep the change. He stuck his hand out to me, and we shook.

“Good meeting ya, Jay,” he said as he stood.

“Thanks,” I said. “Enjoyed meeting you, too.”

“Come by my bar tomorrow night if you get the chance.” He’d mentioned earlier that he owned a place a few blocks down on Fields called The Lounge.

“Sure,” I said. “If I’m around, I’ll come by.”

He leaned in toward me. “Make a point of it,” he said softly so only I could hear. “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t really have any other plans. “I’ll be there.”

• • •

The next night I stepped into The Lounge for the first time. It was early, half past eight, and there was only a handful of customers scattered around the room. On stage, half a dozen dancers were wearing hot pink bikinis, and more were milling about the bar, either talking amongst themselves or entertaining the customers. I didn’t see Robbie anywhere, so I walked over to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five and probably stood no higher than five foot two. She was thin, had long dark hair and small dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.

“I’ll take a mineral water,” I said. In the Philippines, mineral water was the same as your basic drinking water back in the States.

She retrieved a bottle quickly and set it on the bar. She then wrote something on a piece of paper and stuck it in a wooden cup in front of me. My tab for the evening had begun.

“First time here?” she asked.

“Here, yeah. But not Angeles.”

“I didn’t think I had seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Jay. What’s yours?”

“Cathy.”

I unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a drink. “I’m supposed to meet Robbie. Do you know if he’s here yet?”

“Robbie?” she asked.

“Said he was the owner.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Papa Rob?”

“Sure, I guess. Is he here yet?”

“Not yet. But not long, I think.”

She moved away to help another customer, so I turned around to watch the show. Some loud pop song I’d never heard before was blaring over the sound system. (Months later, after hearing the same song at least twice a night every night, I knew it was “Livin’ la Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin. By then I had become an involuntary pop expert.)

Unlike strip bars in the States, where it was usually a single girl on stage dancing a choreographed routine, in Angeles there were always multiple dancers, none of whom seemed to have a real plan of attack. There was a lot of swaying back and forth, and some swinging of the hips. A few of the girls danced with each other, occasionally with moments of mock foreplay that would inevitably end in laughter, while others just seemed bored.

As I watched, a couple of the girls closest to me on the stage started aiming their attention in my direction. One was tall for a Filipina, maybe five foot seven, the other was several inches shorter. Each had black hair, the tall one’s coming down to just above her shoulders, and the short one’s going halfway down her back. Both were thin, but the shorter one had the larger set of breasts and the better smile. The taller one had one of those mouths that curved downward, giving her that just-smelled-shit look anytime she smiled.

I think the tall one realized pretty early on that I wasn’t really interested in them. She soon turned her attention elsewhere, but the shorter one continued to work me as hard as she could. She began rubbing her hands slowly up and down her body, then dropped her chin toward her chest, giving the appearance that she was looking up at me. She was cute, I couldn’t deny that.

As the song ended, she pointed at herself, then at the chair next to me, looking hopeful. I laughed, then said, “Not now.”

She stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Come on,” she said. “Just one drink.”

“Maybe later,” I told her.

“Really?” Her face brightened.

“Maybe,” I repeated.

A new song had started up, so the short one began dancing again. She continued to focus her efforts on me for several more minutes, then melted back into the pack of her friends.

An hour later, after I’d ordered a couple of beers from Cathy, Robbie finally showed up. No matter what the girls were doing, they all seemed to stop and shout, “Hi, Papa Rob!” It was like a rock star had entered the room. I watched as many of the girls ran up and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek. Robbie, a huge grin on his face, was obviously loving it. At one point he picked up a girl in each arm and lifted them high off the ground. They screamed in delight.

“Cathy,” he called out as he set the girls down. “A round for everyone.”

Another cheer went up, and suddenly everything went from lively-bar mode to wild-party mode. Cathy and one of the other bartenders laid out dozens of shot glasses on the counter and began filling them with tequila. A third bartender pulled out a stack of sliced limes and several salt shakers, while whoever was in charge of the music turned up the volume several notches. Any attempt at conversation now meant screaming in each other’s ears, but no one seemed to care.

On stage the dancing became raucous. After the girls drank their shots, several bikini tops came off. Sex radiated from every grinding hip and sultry pout. Somewhere, someone pulled out a spray bottle full of water and began squirting the girls on stage. More squealing, more laughter.

Cathy set a shot in front of me, and I gave her a questioning look.

“He said everyone,” she shouted.

I made a fist with my left hand, sprinkled some salt on top of it, licked it off, downed the shot, then chased it with a lime slice. I could feel the heat of the alcohol as it traveled down my throat.

I smiled. The boredom of the past several months was suddenly a distant memory.

It was like The Lounge had become the place to be that evening. Guys seemed to be pouring in the door. Robbie had only been there for twenty minutes but the room was packed. Hal had told me that some nights it seemed like you couldn’t get anyone to come into your bar, while other nights there weren’t enough seats to go around. It was like a wave you couldn’t predict.

That night, a tsunami hit Robbie’s place. By midnight the bell had already been rung three times-tying a one-night record, according to Cathy-and the vibe that started with Robbie’s arrival showed no signs of ebbing. The bikini tops that had come off earlier had been joined by others until it seemed all the girls, save the bartenders and the waitresses, were topless. And while the guys loved every minute of it, it was actually the girls who seemed to be having the most fun. You could see them, even when they weren’t with a guy, joking or dancing with each other or just smiling large infectious smiles. It was a goddamn all-out party, and no one was going to ruin it.

I was having so much fun watching everything, I almost forgot that Robbie had asked me to come by for a conversation. Not surprisingly, we had yet to have any one-on-one time. He had said hi at one point, but was quickly pulled away by a pack of roaming dancers.

The second time he came by, he said, “Don’t leave. I still want to talk to you.”

He then pulled my drink slips from the cup and handed them to Cathy, motioning to her that all my drinks were on the house. I didn’t see him again until close to two in the morning. I was talking to the short one who had been working me hard earlier. She was leaning against me, her hand resting high on my thigh, when Robbie walked up and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said into my ear.

I nodded, then gently removed my new friend’s hand from my leg and stood up. “Sorry,” I said.

She stuck out her lip again, but I knew the moment I left she’d move on to the next guy. That night, there were plenty to go around.

I followed Robbie through the front door and out onto the sidewalk. Suddenly I could hear myself breathe again. Up and down Fields Avenue, groups of Filipina girls and mostly white men moved from bar to bar. Trikes-small motorcycles with attached, enclosed sidecars-roared loudly as they drove by taking their fares to God knows where. Occasionally a jeepney-a privately run bus that kind of looked like a squished school bus-would pass by. But mostly it was the trikes and foot traffic that dominated.

Within a five-minute walk of Robbie’s place, there must have been nearly two dozen more bars, each lit up with neon, and their entrances enhanced by beautiful door girls trying to get the traveling hoards to go inside.

“Hungry?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I said. In those days I was always hungry.

“The Pit Stop, then.”

The Pit Stop was action central. It was a large, informal restaurant sitting at the corner of Fields Avenue and Santos Street, right in the middle of the most popular section of Fields. It had a swimming pool out back that had been home to some famous wet T-shirt contests, a small hotel on the second floor, and the famous Immortality go-go bar on the east side. But when someone mentioned The Pit Stop, it was the restaurant everyone thought of.

On the first floor where the restaurant was, along both the Fields and Santos sides, there were no outer walls. Instead, there was a four-foot high rattan-covered counter that allowed customers to sit and watch all the action on the streets. Inside, there were tables, a few booths, and several pool tables.

It looked like the place was about half full, mostly with guys and their current girls. Several people called out their hellos to Robbie as we crossed the room to one of the booths back near the pool tables. A short waitress in a Hawaiian-print shirt and white shorts brought over a couple of menus, and asked if we wanted anything to drink. I opted for another beer. Robbie, on the other hand, ordered a whiskey.

“So what’d you think of The Lounge?” Robbie asked after the waitress left.

“Is it always like that?” I said.

“Some nights are better than others.”

One of the guys who was playing pool, an older guy with a gut that spilled over the top of his khaki shorts, walked over, a grin on his face. “Hey, Robbie. How ya’ doing?”

“Well, son of a bitch.” Robbie shot out of the booth, and the two men shared a hardy handshake. “Frank Pearson. When did you get in town?”

“Just this evening,” Frank said. He had an American accent with a slight Southern tinge. “Haven’t even unpacked yet. Who’s your friend?”

Robbie looked over at me. “Frank Pearson, meet Jay Bradley. Jay, this is my old friend Frank. He’s an Angeles regular.”

“You here on vacation, too?” Frank asked.

“No,” I said. “I actually live here.”

“An ex-pat,” Frank said, sounding impressed. “Lucky bastard. Where you from?”

“Arizona originally,” I said.

“I’ve been to Phoenix once,” Frank said. “I’m from Missouri. Jefferson City.”

We exchanged a handshake.

“Hey, Frank,” the Filipina he’d been playing pool with called out. “Your turn, honey. Hurry up so I can win.”

Frank shared a conspiratorial smile with us and said in a low voice, “I always let her win a few my first night back. Robbie, glad to see you’re in town. I’ll stop by The Lounge tomorrow night. And Jay, good to meet you.”

Frank turned and started walking back to his table. “Relax, baby. You ain’t won yet.”

As Robbie sat down, our waitress returned with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. Robbie said he’d have the shepherd’s pie, and I ordered a plate of sliders and a side of fries.

“Frank seems like a nice guy,” I said. “Known him long?”

“Seems like forever, but probably only two or three years. He flies to Manila for work every month or two. Always manages to squeeze in at least a few days here. A real asshole when he drinks too much, though.”

I took a sip of my beer. “He seemed surprised that you were in town.”

Robbie smiled. “I may own a bar, but I don’t actually live here. I’ve got a business back in Sydney. I’m lucky if I can carve out a week every couple of months to come up here. I make a lot more money there than I do with The Lounge.” He laughed. “But The Lounge is a hell of a lot more fun.”

He downed his whiskey like it was a shot, then motioned for the waitress to bring him another. “Actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve got an opening for a papasan, and I thought you might be interested. No real heavy lifting. Just make sure everything’s going smoothly. Hand out some free drinks now and then and keep the girls from fighting too much.”

“I don’t know,” I said. I won’t deny that I had a feeling this was what he wanted to talk about. But while I had to admit visiting Fields Avenue had broken up the sameness of my new life, making it a permanent addition to my daily schedule didn’t seem like such a good idea. “I don’t really need a job right now. What about Hal?”

“Already asked Hal,” Robbie told me. “He’s happy where he’s at. Says filling in part-time is about all he can handle. He’s the one who suggested you. It’s a great job. All the drinks you want for free. Mind you, I’d avoid dipping into the talent pool, if you know what I mean. The girls have a way of finding that stuff out. It’ll seem like you’re playing favorites, and that’s when you’d lose complete control.”

“Thanks, Robbie, but I’m going to have to say no.”

“You seem like a smart guy, Jay. I could really use a smart guy. My other two guys, Tommy and Doug, they’re okay, but not quite the brightest fellas around, know what I mean? I’d give you any shift you wanted. Daytime, night, whatever. I’d just feel better knowing there was someone here I could count on.”

“How do you know you could count on me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know Hal, and Hal knows you. Says you’re one of the good ones.”

“I still have to say no,” I said. “I just don’t think that’s something I really want to do.”

“Do me a favor?” he asked.

“Depends on the favor,” I said.

“I’m here ’til Sunday. Think about if for a couple of days and get back to me. Would you do that for me?”

I shook my head. “I appreciate your persistence, but my answer’s not going to change.”

I’d love to say I told him no on moral grounds. That I thought maybe it was okay to come down every once in a while and watch the girls dance, maybe even buy them a drink now and then, but there was no way I would actively involve myself in selling flesh. I’d love to say that, but it would have been a lie. I think it was the idea of working again at anything that made me decline. In my mind that evening, I had retired and my time was my own.

Four boring days later, I called Robbie and told him yes.

CHAPTER SIX

Life has the tendency to fall into cycles and rhythms that go on for indeterminate amounts of time before they gradually, or sometimes suddenly, move into a new phase. If you wait long enough, they often come right back to the beginning.

Life on Fields was no different. We had our high seasons and our low seasons. There were good weeks and bad. Sometimes the girls were grooving to the same happy beat, and other times they were so out of sync with each other that I was lucky Armageddon didn’t descend on all of us. But all in all, life at The Lounge was far from bad.

In fact, there were aspects of that life I loved-my relationships with most of the girls, getting to know more members of the ex-pat community, the interaction with the tourists who passed through, at least the non-idiotic ones, for tourists seemed to come to Angeles in all forms. There were also aspects of the life that I was never comfortable with, the foremost being the Early Work Release. The bar fine.

Though it wasn’t the first term that came to my mind when I thought about my time as a papasan, what I had really been was a pimp. I had my girls, I took care of them, watched over them, listened to their problems, and sold them again and again, night after night.

I wasn’t sure how the other papasans on Fields handled this aspect of things. Some, I had heard, didn’t care at all and pushed their girls to go on EWR whenever the opportunity presented itself, thinking only of the money the bar made from its share of the fine and how good that would make them look. Others might have been as conflicted about it as I was, but I don’t really know. I never talked about it with anyone.

When I was on duty, every time a girl was asked to go out on an EWR, I’d take her aside and ask if she really wanted to go. Not surprisingly, they almost always said yes. The guy could have been a serial killer, and nearly half the girls would have still said, “Sure. No problem. I can handle myself.” It was all about the money. Money was everything. Since the moment they were born, money had been what was missing in their lives, and the lives of their families. And now, in a single night, they could make more than their family back in whatever province they came from could make in a month. A thousand pesos a night was not uncommon. So for what amounted to about eighteen dollars in the States, these girls were willing to risk their lives.

It wasn’t that they were stupid. You wouldn’t last long on Fields if you were stupid. It was a case of the here and now. A thousand pesos in their pockets tonight was better than the chance of two thousand pesos tomorrow. It was a grab-as-you-can attitude. But who could blame them? They were all supporting families back home, and probably an unemployed Filipino boyfriend somewhere in the city, and perhaps even a baby. Maybe two.

The real sad part was they seldom had any plans. Dreams, sure. The girls had tons of dreams. Going to college, working in an office in Manila, owning their own bar. Meeting a foreign guy, and getting the hell off this islands. But most of the time, dreams were all they were. Money earned was as good as money spent, if not by the girls themselves, then by their families on things they didn’t need, or by the boyfriend who took her cash to buy cigarettes or beer or a part for his motorcycle that never seemed to run right.

As much as I could, I encouraged them to save their money. I didn’t know if I got through to anyone. They always gave me a big smile, their eyes wide as if they were learning something truly important, but then the next day they’d be just as poor as ever.

About the only thing I could do was try to minimize as much as possible the chance they might get hurt. After a girl told me she wanted to go out on a bar fine, I’d go with her over to the guy and start up a little small talk. If he seemed like an asshole, I’d make some excuse, fill him up with free drinks and send him on his way alone. The girls would be disappointed, but they trusted my judgment. If the guy seemed okay, I’d let the girl go.

It wasn’t a perfect system. To truly gauge a person, you needed more than a few minutes and gut instinct. It worked more than I had hoped, but it didn’t work all the time. Some sons of bitches hid their asshole tendencies well.

Unfortunately, when something bad happened, I didn’t usually learn about it right away, when it might have been possible for me to do something. Something like having another little chat with the guy, only this time there’d be nothing friendly about it. It wouldn’t reverse what he had done, but it might stop him from doing it again, at least at The Lounge.

But the way it worked, news would filter back to me through the girls days or even weeks later. Something like “so-and-so had been roughed up by some guy” or “stiffed on the tip” or “forced to do things she didn’t want to do.” When I did find out, I’d take the news hard. Then I’d tell all the girls again that they didn’t have to put up with any crap, and they had to tell me when they had problems so the same thing wouldn’t happen to any of the other girls. My biggest fear was that one day someone would come to tell me one of my girls was dead.

It never happened to me, but that didn’t mean it never happened.

It was my fourth year on the job. It wasn’t summer yet, but there were still plenty of tourists around. Isabel had been working for me for a few months, but hadn’t met Larry yet.

By then I had settled into a pretty regular routine: up by one in the afternoon, breakfast and a beer at The Pit Stop at three, “office” at six, last call at three in the morning, doors locked by four, in bed by four thirty, sometimes alone, sometimes not. Then repeat.

I lost months that way.

I didn’t drag myself out of bed until almost two p.m. that day. It was March 14th, three days before our big St. Paddy’s Day blowout. We were going all out that year: green beer, body-painting contest, a pot of gold chocolate coins. I was looking forward to it. I had moved from de facto to official head papasan, or, if you prefer the more common term, bar manager. Good or bad, when something happened at The Lounge, I was the one who gave Robbie the news. So as boss, I decided Dandy Doug was going to help me that night. That way I wouldn’t have to work too hard and could actually enjoy myself.

Even though the event was three days away, there was still a lot to do so getting a late start didn’t put me in the greatest of moods. It was thanks to a few too many San Migs, courtesy of a regular customer who hadn’t been in town for several months. I hoped he didn’t plan on showing up again that evening. By the time I was sitting at my regular table at The Pit Stop, it was closer to four than three.

Dieter Russ, a German ex-pat who’d been working as a papasan almost as long as I had, was already there. His shift at Sinsations didn’t start until the same time mine did. We sometimes called Dieter “Wild Man” behind his back. He had this head of hair that just refused to stay combed. Within an hour of leaving home, he’d always look like he was wearing an unruly brown bush on his head. I bought him a can of gel once, the foamy kind. If he ever used it, I couldn’t tell.

I waved him over, and he joined me. The waitress brought over two San Miguels without even asking. Sometimes it paid to be a regular. I ordered a ham and cheese omelet, while Dieter got a plate of spaghetti. We tapped our bottles together, then took a drink. It was his second of the day, so his perpetual hangover had already subsided to manageable white noise, while mine was still restricting my ability to speak.

Until I was about three-quarters of the way through that first bottle, Dieter did all the talking. About what, I don’t remember. The girls, probably. It was the default subject.

The food arrived just as I was beginning to feel like this wasn’t going to be my last day on earth after all. Fifteen minutes later, my belly full of beer and grease, I was Angeles’ normal: internal temperature approximately ninety-nine degrees, vision slightly blurry, judgment questionable.

“When I have my own place,” Dieter said, “I think I’ll put the stage along one wall and the bar along the other.”

It was a common dream among the papasans to one day own a bar. At that point, I never gave it much thought. After all, I was only doing this on a temporary basis. At least that’s what I told everyone.

To hear Dieter or some of the other papasans talk about it, their places would be the best on Fields. They’d never make the mistakes their bosses did. They’d have better lineups, cheaper drink prices, nicer layouts. And something special, a hook that would keep people coming back. Like the almost nightly contests at Torpedoes, or the fireman pole through the ceiling they put in at Blenders so the girls could slide down onto the stage. I have to admit that last one was clever.

But few papasans ever actually took the step and bought a bar. And those who did soon found that their lineups weren’t any different than those at the other bars, that they couldn’t afford to offer cheaper drink prices, that most layouts were just a variation on a theme, and every gimmick they came up with had been done before.

“And I’m thinking of maybe a Hawaiian theme,” Dieter continued. “Maybe call it The Luau, something like that. What do you think?”

“How about The Stuffed Pig?” I said.

“Hey, that’s not bad.”

He started riffing on a list of possible special contests he could offer, but I barely heard him. My attention had been drawn to the entrance, where Tom Hill had just walked in looking very serious. Tom was a short, wiry man in his sixties with the reputation of never being happy about anything. He owned a small Internet cafe just up the road. After a disagreement with Carter, The Pit Stop’s owner, over something so stupid I couldn’t even remember it, Tom seldom set foot in the place anymore.

“So?” Dieter asked. There was a moment of silence, then, “Doc, you’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry,” I said, then nodded my head in Tom’s direction.

Dieter turned to take a look. “Shit,” he said. “What’s this all about?”

“Don’t know.”

We both watched as Tom walked quickly past a waitress as she tried to offer him a table, then past the pool tables and over to the door of Carter’s office. He went in without knocking.

“Do you think we should check to make sure everything’s okay?” Dieter asked.

“Carter can handle himself,” I replied.

But when Dieter started to speak again, I held my hand up to silence him. I wanted to be able to hear if things got out of hand, just in case we did need to break it up. But moments later the door to the office opened again, and both Tom and Carter stepped out, not a smile between them. Only it didn’t appear they were mad at each other. When Carter spotted Dieter and me sitting there, he put a hand on Tom’s arm and said something, motioning in our direction. The two conferred for a few seconds, then Carter waved at us.

“You guys have a minute?” he called.

“Sure,” I said.

Dieter and I got up and walked over.

“What’s up?” Dieter asked.

“Not here,” Tom said.

Carter led us back into his office. It was a small room with a desk crammed into the corner, stacks of paper and files everywhere, and a couple of chairs for guests. Nobody sat.

“So?” I asked.

Tom looked at Carter before speaking. “There’s a dead girl at Las Palmas.” The Las Palmas Hotel was a favorite place to stay for the average Fields Avenue tourist, and only a couple blocks from The Pit Stop.

For a moment none of us moved or spoke. “Do they know who she is?” I asked.

“The only thing I heard was that she worked at The Lynx,” Tom said. “But I got that from one of the maids, so who knows.”

“What happened?” Dieter asked.

“Apparently the guest left her in his room and went out to party for a few hours. When he came back, she was dead. Couldn’t get much more. Anthony’s trying to keep a lid on it.” Anthony Staley was the owner and manager of the hotel.

“That won’t last long,” Carter said.

“Thanks for the tip,” I told Tom, meaning it.

There really wasn’t anything else to say, so Dieter and I headed back into the restaurant. We were barely through the door when Dieter stopped in his tracks.

“Aw, fuck,” he said.

I followed his gaze. Near the entrance several of the waitresses were gathered around another girl who looked like she’d just arrived. They all looked serious, and a couple were even beginning to cry. Out on the street, another girl ran by, headed for Jolly Jack’s. No one ever ran here. Not unless they had a really good reason.

The news was out, and within an hour, all of Fields would know. I don’t know how the girls did it, but they always had a way of finding out things they were better off not knowing. It was like a wildfire. We even had a name for it: The Bamboo Network.

That afternoon, it was in full swing.

While the network was great at spreading news quickly, it was lousy at reporting anything accurately. I heard all sorts of rumors and wild stories. At The Lounge that night, it was everything I could do to keep the girls calm. It got so bad I had the bartenders pass out two rounds of undiluted tequila shots just to take the edge off everyone.

One girl told me she heard that the dead girl had been murdered. “He hack her up, di ba? Blood all over. My friend’s cousin is a receptionist there, so she knows. This guy crazy.”

Another said she heard it was two girls fighting over a guy. I also heard drug overdose, suicide, jealous Filipino boyfriend, slip in the shower and heart attack. One girl even said it was from too much boom-boom.

The same informal survey revealed it had happened in room 66, 68, 72, 45, 59, 17 and 23. The only thing that was common was that a girl was dead and it happened at the Las Palmas Hotel.

“I’ll never go there again,” Bell, one of my dancers, told me. “If a guy want to bar fine me and he staying at Las Palmas, I say no way.”

She wasn’t the only one to express this same thought. A few hours later, though, after several drinks, she said that maybe the Las Palmas was okay, but she’d never go to the room the girl died in. “Ghost, di ba? Her spirit in there.”

This wasn’t the first time a bar girl had died in one of the hotels, and God knew it wouldn’t be the last. But every time the girls reacted as if it had never happened before, with panic, fear, vows to never set foot in such-and-such hotel again, vows to quit working the bars all together. Then a week later, maybe two, it was like nothing had happened. And within a month no one could even remember which hotel it had occurred in, let alone the room number.

For one night anyway, money had taken second place to something bigger, and none of the girls put much effort into getting bar fined. That was okay by me.

Near midnight, I noticed Isabel sitting alone in a booth near the back. I had Cathy make me two glasses of rum and Coke, then carried them across to where Isabel sat. I stood in front of the booth for several seconds before she looked up and noticed me.

“You okay?” I asked.

She smiled, but there wasn’t a lot behind it. I held up one of the glasses, and shook it a little so the ice jingled against the sides, then sat down beside her.

“For you,” I said as I handed the glass to her. “Cheers.” We clinked glasses, and took sips. Well, I took a sip. I don’t think Isabel did more than brush the rim with her lips.

“Back home, I don’t think I could ever afford a drink like this,” she said as she set the full glass on the small table in front of us.

“You miss home?” I asked. I guess I was trying to get her to replace one kind of grief with another. So much for my reputation as the psychiatrist of Fields Avenue.

“Sure,” she said. “Of course.”

“Tell me about it. Your home, I mean.”

She scoffed. “Too boring.”

“I want to know.”

She stared at me for several seconds, trying to determine if I was being serious. “Okay,” she finally said. “My parents have a little snack shop. It’s along a pretty busy highway. Some days we do okay, some days not.”

“What about your house?”

She laughed and gave me a look like I was not as smart as she thought I was. “We lived in the two rooms behind the shop.”

“Just you and your parents?”

Another laugh. “And my four brothers and two sisters and grandmother.”

“It sounds kind of crowded.”

“It is.”

“Did Mariella live near you?”

“No,” she said. “Her family moved closer to Manila when I was still a baby, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t meet her until I came here.”

“You’re kidding me.”

She shook her head, and we fell into silence. After several moments, Isabel said, “Do they know who she was yet?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The girl who died today. Do they know who she was?”

I unconsciously ran my hand across the stubble on my chin. “I haven’t heard anything yet. Do you think it might be someone you know?”

“No.” She looked around the room. “These are the only girls I know, and everyone’s here tonight.” She paused, then added, “Well, there’s Mariella. But I’m sure it’s not her.”

Mariella had moved on from The Lounge months earlier, but I didn’t think it was her, either.

“Do you think he killed her? The man she was with?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How can she go home with someone who would kill her?”

“We don’t know he killed her. It could have been almost anything.”

“I know, but if he did?”

“Okay. If he did, maybe he doesn’t look like a killer.”

“I think I could tell.” She wasn’t really telling me so much as making a statement.

“Really?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “In his eyes.”

“What if he loved her? A crime of passion.”

“If someone really loved me, they would never kill me.”

I was about to tell her there were many other ways to die from love that had nothing to do with breathing, but that wasn’t what she was really looking for. Once more our conversation ebbed, and we contented ourselves with sipping our drinks.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked once my glass was empty. There were other girls who needed attention, and I had already spent more time with Isabel than I should have. Of course, I always spent more time with Isabel than I should. I guess like with a favorite child, sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“I can’t help thinking how that girl has a family like mine somewhere,” she said. “And this week, instead of getting money from her, they’ll get her body.”

I thought she would start crying then. I know I wanted to. But her eyes remained dry. Even with just a handful of months in Angeles, she’d learned how to control her emotions, a fact that in the long run probably disturbed me more than the news of the dead girl.

The girls weren’t the only ones affected that night. About an hour before I closed, Dominick Valenti and Josh Harris stopped in for a drink. Both were ex-pats who lived in Angeles.

“No dates tonight?” I asked.

Neither had come in with a girl on his arm. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

“Shit, man, everyone’s freaked out over the thing at Las Palmas,” Josh said. He had been an aircraft machinist at Boeing in Seattle who’d retired early at fifty-five. “Last thing I want is some chick whining all night about some dead girl she never knew.”

I tried to smile sympathetically, but I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.

“Heard she was from Slo Joe’s,” Dominick-Nicky to most of us-said. He was a career Navy man who’d gotten a taste of the beautiful brown girls when he’d been a young sailor like me, only ten years earlier in the seventies. Now all that was left of his service days was a blurry blue tattoo on his left bicep and a perpetual crew cut. He was one of Angeles’ truly big boys, his gut taking up more than half his lap.

“I’d heard The Lynx,” I told him.

“God, I hope not,” Josh said. “I’ve got friends at The Lynx.”

“You got friends everywhere,” Nicky said.

We all laughed, but there was an undercurrent of tension. I could tell what they were thinking. They wanted to know if they knew the girl, and if they did, they wanted to know how well.

“Let me buy you both a drink,” I said.

When the beers arrived, San Migs for Nicky and me and a Heineken for Josh, Nicky held up his bottle and offered a toast. “To the dead girl,” he said. “May she find peace.”

Like most things on Fields, the truth was slow in emerging. It was over two months later before I had the full story.

The girl’s name had been Rosella Ramos. At the bars, she went by the name Vivian. She had been working at Jammers, not The Lynx, and had only been on the job for about four months. Somebody showed me a picture of her, but I didn’t recognize her.

Her papers said she was eighteen. Apparently the guy whose room she was in, an American from North Carolina named Steve or Stan-that was one thing I could never get cleared up-had met her on a previous trip. They’d kept in contact when he went home, and he even sent her money every month. She was new to the scene so to her this meant he loved her. And, who knows, maybe he did. But not enough, apparently.

When he came back, she latched on to him right away. Unfortunately, he probably hadn’t planned on spending his whole vacation with just one girl. Why he didn’t spend a few days in Manila first, sampling the offerings there before coming up to Angeles, I could never figure out. He had to know she was waiting for him.

Anyway, about halfway through the trip, he got the itch to try someone new. Only he couldn’t shake his honey ko-his girlfriend. He started going out in the afternoons, saying he wanted to spend a few hours with his buddies drinking and playing pool. He’d leave her in the room with the TV and tell her he’d be back in the afternoon.

Of course he was lying.

There were two levels of bar fines: long time and short time. Long time meant an overnight stay sometimes lasting until the next evening. Short time was exactly what it sounded like: a few hours of fun then everyone back to the bars. What this guy did was rent a room at another hotel, then take a girl at one of the early-opening bars out for short time so he could get in his extra-curricular activities that way. What he didn’t count on was his honey ko following him the third day he used this scheme. Once she realized what he was doing, she played it cool, and returned to the room without him knowing.

The next day, when he went to leave for his afternoon “with the boys,” she had a fit. She said she knew he was cheating on her. She said she didn’t want him to go. He told her she was crazy, that this was his vacation and he was going out. Before he reached the door, she told him she would kill herself if he left. Apparently he laughed, and walked out the door without saying anything. The truth is, any veteran of Fields would have done the same thing. Several girls threatened to kill themselves on a regular basis. It was drama designed to let them sink their nails a little deeper into their targets. They thought if they could get a strong enough hold, they might be able to shake a little more cash loose, or, better yet, bewitch the men to the point they’d marry them and take them away.

So the guy left Rosella alone in his room while he went out for a little stress relief. From this point, I could only guess at what happened next. As I saw it, there were really only two possibilities. One: Rosella was truly crushed to the point she didn’t want to live anymore and decided to end it all, then and there. But given the fact she’d been in the business for only a few months, I couldn’t believe she could have sunk so low so fast.

Option two seemed more likely. She knew from the previous days that her boyfriend returned around two p.m. each day. She planned it so that when he came back she wouldn’t be dead yet, but close. The signs of her faux suicide attempt would be on the nightstand, giving him little chance to misunderstand what was happening. He’d then call a doctor and save her life. This was her way of showing him how much she loved him, and how she would rather be dead if she couldn’t have him.

What she didn’t count on was that after their fight that afternoon, he decided to enjoy his new friend for an extra hour, and didn’t return until almost three p.m., a good half hour after Rosella took her last breath.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sometimes you would meet a guy who came to Angeles, and wonder what the hell he was doing there. These were the guys who seemed to have everything going for them: a good job, decent looks, an amiable personality. The kind of guy you’d think didn’t have any problem getting girls back home, a guy who was desired. That’s why the majority of the guys came to Fields-to be wanted. It wasn’t the sex. Well, not completely anyway. Because in Angeles, even the ugliest and oldest members of the Fat Guys Association, and the most socially awkward of the Dweebs ’r ’ Us Club could feel desired. Girls-young, sexy, beautiful girls-looked at these guys as if they had never met a more handsome, charming man.

Sure it was a game, and ninety-nine-point-seven percent of the time, it wasn’t true. Everyone knew it-the girls, the guys. But what you knew logically didn’t always translate emotionally. So when one of the girls gave you those big eyes, you felt it. Maybe not in the knees, but in the gut and sometimes even in the heart. And part of you, for a little while anyway, believed. That was the illusion of Angeles. That was the fantasy world you entered when you stepped onto Fields Avenue. That’s why you came.

Without the illusion, no one would ever have come within fifty miles of Angeles. Instead of being hypnotized by the parties and the girls and the perpetual buzz and flashing neon, they’d see the dirt and the beggars and gray, ugly buildings and brown, run-down shacks. They’d notice that some of the girls were just going through the motions and others tackled their “job” like trained professionals. They’d realize that, given the choice, most of the girls would have never come to Angeles, but because of the money, there was nowhere else the girls wanted to be. The men would see the tricks the girls used to get by, the ploys they’d learned to get more money out of their customers, the shabu-shabu-what they called the Filipino version of meth-some abused to make it through endless nights of drinking or just to forget about things, the prejudices they’d built up after months and years in the bars so they could still stand a chance of picking up a date.

It wasn’t just the guys who were blind. The girls, too, had their own sense of tunnel vision-eye always on the game, with the easy prize being the peso, or, better yet, the almighty dollar, pound or euro.

Others eyed the ultimate achievement, the grand prize: escape. So much so that many times they would end up giving themselves away for free to a man who promised much but had no intention of ever delivering anything except his own orgasm.

And like the guys, the girls, too, found themselves getting wrapped up in the atmosphere of Angeles. The life itself becoming a kind of drug, even more powerful than the shabu-shabu they got from their trike-driving boyfriends. And despite the fact that they were trying to sell themselves every night, if given the choice after only a few months working the bars, most of the girls wouldn’t want to leave. You can take the girl out of the bar, but you can’t take the bar out of the girl.

So we were all myopic in our own ways, even the papasans. I can’t tell you how many of us had girlfriends at one time or another who were bar girls, ones who said once they were dating us, they would no longer go out with any customers on bar fines. And for a time we would believe that, forgetting why the girls were there in the first place. We, of all people, should have known better.

Blind, yet all of us knowing the truth. We were living the illusion. That’s why we were all there. “Believe,” the fairy would whisper in our ears when we arrived. “Believe and you are in for the experience of a lifetime.”

So when someone showed up who seemed not to need the illusion, we got confused. That’s how it was with Larry.

I met Larry, as he used to always remind me, at the swimming pool at The Pit Stop. It was hot (when wasn’t it?) and my day off. Long before, I’d begun the habit of leaving a swimsuit at The Pit Stop in case I was on Fields and in the mood for a swim. That was one of those afternoons.

As he told it, he was sitting at a poolside table reading a book when all of a sudden this big fat guy did a cannonball dive into the water. The splash apparently reached record proportions, soaking not only Larry and his book, but the remains of his lunch as well.

The fat guy was me, of course.

My memory had me splashing only a little water on his book, but I guess I was chastened enough to buy him a beer. I barely remember the incident at all so it was really Larry’s version and the way he told it that stuck with me. Whether it was true or not, that’s how it happened.

Whenever we were in a group with three or more people who hadn’t heard the story, he’d tell it. He would impersonate the wave as it grew in the air, then came crashing down on him. And when he played the part of me, I suddenly became this aw-shucks oaf who had no idea what had just happened. As far as I could tell, Larry never had a mean bone in his body. So when everyone laughed, I would, too. Even though I’m sure I heard the story a hundred times, it was always funny.

The first time I remember meeting Larry was about three days later at The Lounge. It could have been ten p.m., it could have been eleven. I do know it was before midnight because every night at that time we’d play “Love Shack” by the B-52s, and the girls did a special dance Bell had choreographed for them. It was the only organized dancing that we ever had, and I remember that night I watched it with Larry.

I didn’t see him come in. I was in the back dealing with a problem with one of the girls, a dancer named Tessa. She’d received a text message earlier from her boyfriend in England telling her that he’d found out she was still working in the bar, so he was dumping her and not sending any more cash. Something like that happened on Fields several times a week.

Tessa had spent the next two hours furiously texting back and forth trying to convince him he was wrong.

“Either go home or put it away,” I told her.

I’d found her in the changing room, sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her knees pulled up in front of her. “I’m almost done,” she said.

“You’re done now,” I said.

I started walking toward her, intending to confiscate the phone for the rest of the evening. But she was quick and whipped it behind her back before I could make my grab. Mobile phones were a disease among the girls, and texting each other was so common that some girls could type a message on a phone keypad faster than most people could type it on a computer. But we had a rule at The Lounge: No mobiles while on duty.

“Papa Jay, please,” she pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve told you before,” I said.

On cue, water began gathering in the corners of her eyes. “He want to break up with me.”

“Tessa, enough.” This wasn’t the first phone violation she’d had. “Either give it to me or go home and start thinking about finding a new job.”

She was silent for a moment. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

I stared down at her, my face blank. I put a hand out so she could put her phone in it. “Do you really want to find out?”

“Papa, please.”

I learned a long time ago from a buddy in the Navy that sometimes you got more out of someone when you said nothing, so I continued to stare. After a moment, she pulled her phone out from behind her back and put it in my hand.

“You’re so mean,” she said.

I put the phone in my pocket, then put my hand out to help her up. Once she was on her feet, she pushed up on her toes and kissed me on the cheek.

“Just joking,” she said, the tears magically gone and a smile returning to her face.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend’s breaking up with you,” I said. No matter what, I still cared about the girls.

“Oh, he don’t break up with me,” she said. “I tell him, no one love him like me. He finally say he’s sorry and everything okay.”

“Then why didn’t you just stop when I came in?” I asked.

“I was telling Natalie what happened.” Natalie, I knew, was a friend of hers who worked down the street at Torpedoes.

We walked back out to the main room, and that’s when I spotted Larry. He was sitting at the bar talking with Cathy, but he didn’t look familiar. I said hi to a couple of the regular customers as I made my way back to my normal spot at the end of the bar. Once I was sitting again, I motioned for Cathy to bring me a bottle of water.

The music was right at the level I liked it, loud enough to create the illusion of a potential party, while low enough that conversations were possible. At The Lounge, we played a mix of contemporary and retro pop: Hoobastank, Shaggy, Duran Duran, the Gorillaz-stuff the girls could really dance to. Thankfully, by then, “Livin’ la Vida Loca” had long since left our playlist.

The music was grooving and the girls seemed to be having a good time. Laughter broke out occasionally from where some girls were doing a little one-on-one entertaining with the customers. No sex, not in the club. If you wanted sex at a bar, you needed to go to one of the twenty-four-hour places on Santos Street where the girls would offer a blow job before you even sat down. The bars on Fields weren’t like that. We considered ourselves to be on a higher level and the girls felt the same way. There was a definite social structure. If a customer did visit a bar on Blow Row, he would do well not to mention it to any girl on Fields. The entertaining in our place took the form of tickling, joking, talking and possibly, if things were going well, a little kissing.

It was an average night-my favorite kind. And I was doing my favorite activities: sitting on my stool, drinking a beer or the occasional bottle of water, and scanning the room to make sure everyone was having fun. I didn’t notice Larry approaching until he was already starting to sit in the chair next to me.

I smiled and nodded at him. “Evening.” I was, after all, the consummate host.

“So this is where the Cannonball King hangs out,” he replied.

“I’m sorry?” I said.

He stared at me for a moment, a funny little smile on his face. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

My immediate thought was that he was one of the many Angeles regulars who came at least once a year. I considered faking it and saying, sure, I remembered him. But I’d been burnt doing that once so, instead, I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Monday, I think,” he said. “In the afternoon. The Pit Stop pool?”

I still wasn’t following him, so I shook my head again.

“Me reading a book, you deciding to displace as much water as you could in my direction.”

That, I did remember. Vaguely, anyway. It had happened several days earlier, and by this point in my Angeles adventure I had become an expert at the short-term memory purge. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I owe you a beer.”

He laughed again. “You already bought me a beer. But I guess another one wouldn’t hurt.”

Cathy, who had wandered in our direction, took the cue and got him a San Miguel.

“Larry,” he said, holding his hand out to me. “Larry Adams.”

We shook. “I’m Jay,” I said.

“This your place?” he asked.

“What? The Lounge?” It was my turn to laugh. “No. I just work here.”

“Not a bad place to work.”

“It has its upside.” I finished off the last of my water. “Hey, Cathy.” When she looked up, I said, “I’ll take a beer now.”

“Here you go, Doc,” she said as she set the bottle in front of me.

“Doc?” Larry asked.

“Not officially,” I said. “This your first trip to Angeles?”

“Yeah,” he said. “First time.”

“So, what do you think?”

He watched the dancers for a moment before answering. When he did, the tone of his voice had gone all serious. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“No shit,” I said, then started laughing louder than I had in weeks.

The rest of the evening we spent talking about things like deep-sea fishing, laptop computers, and the exchange rate of the peso to the dollar. I found out he was from San Francisco, California. I’m not sure if we got into what he did for a living, but later I knew. He owned, in his words, a modest same-day delivery service based in the Bay Area. He was thirty-seven and had never been married.

It wasn’t until well after midnight, when we were both a little drunk, that the subject of the girls finally came up. Sure, that was surprising, but Larry wasn’t your typical tourist. For that matter, I wasn’t your average papasan.

I had just returned from a run to the CR-comfort room, what they called the toilet in the Philippines-and found him eyeing one of the dancers. She was a tiny girl, not even five feet tall, with long black hair that reached the top of her ass, and breasts only slightly larger than expected on her thin frame. There was a whole set of categories-the spinner, the stunner, the runner, just to name a few-and she was a spinner, a small, light girl you could just pick up and spin around anyway you wanted.

“That’s Nelly,” I said.

Nelly had noticed Larry looking at her, and had moved into full-on flirt mode.

“What?”

I nodded toward her. “Your new friend.”

“She is cute,” he said as if he hadn’t expected to find anyone like her.

“You want me to call her over?”

I could see him struggling with it for a moment, then he shook his head. “That’s okay. I was just enjoying the moment.”

I took a sip from my sixth (or was it seventh?) beer of the evening. “You got a girlfriend already?”

“You mean here?” he asked.

I nodded.

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“No problem. I’m just…” he paused. “Not ready, I guess.”

I could almost hear the click in my beer-dulled mind telling me I’d just heard an important piece of information. But it was a few more seconds before I realized what it was.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Didn’t you tell me you’ve been here something like four days already?”

“Five,” he corrected me.

“Okay, five. Maybe I’m just hearing things, but I think you just said you haven’t been with anyone yet.”

Larry glanced away for a moment. When he looked back, he had a small, sheepish grin on his face. “That’s about right.”

I stared at him. “Is there something wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “And before you ask, I’m not gay, either.”

“What am I missing? Are you scared?” There’d been guys, first-timers like Larry, who got petrified once they were faced with the abundance Angeles had to offer, but they usually got over it after a night or two.

“Not scared. It just hasn’t seemed right yet.”

Over my time working at The Lounge, I’d seen all sorts of guys, all of them, at the very least, looking for that one-night girlfriend. The later it got, the less choosy they became. But here, sitting next to me at the bar, was a first.

“What the hell are we doing drinking beer? Cathy,” I called, “bring the Cuervo over. The 1800. Double shots for both of us. Hell, one for you, too. And when we’re done, another round.”

By the time I closed the place, Larry was all but passed out on the bar. I still had some of my senses with me-a product of drinking every night, I guess-so I made sure I got him back to his hotel room without incident.

I also made him promise that if he hadn’t hooked up with anyone before his last night in Angeles, he’d come back by The Lounge and I’d set him up with Nelly.

So I guess you could say it was all my fault.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Boracay again. In that later time, when Larry was dead and Isabel-a harder Isabel, but not hardened all the way through just yet-was asleep on the spare bed in my hotel room. My own sleep had been uneven, and I’d woken early and hungry.

The day before, I’d been informed by the concierge that a tropical storm was going to be passing nearby, and when I pulled back the curtain for a quick peek outside, I wasn’t surprised to find the sky covered in a blanket of gray clouds. The ground was still dry, but it didn’t look like it would stay that way for long. I’d seen the sky like that before. We could be in for a steady soak.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, slipped on my sneakers and grabbed my cell phone. Isabel was still breathing deeply and wasn’t likely to wake up anytime soon, so I quietly let myself out.

The morning air was already warm, and before I’d even taken ten steps from the door, I could feel sweat beginning to bead on my brow. In the Philippines, there was a hot season and a rainy season, and most times it was both.

I made my way down to the poolside restaurant, and sat at a table under the awning. My hotel wasn’t quite as nice as the White Sands where Isabel had spent the previous night. There were more rooms crammed into about the same amount of space, the pool was smaller, and the restaurant wasn’t quite as good. But I hadn’t been trying to impress anyone, so it was fine for me.

There was only one other customer for breakfast, another early bird, or perhaps a night owl who was getting a little something to eat before finally heading off to bed. Otherwise the place was deserted.

I ordered some eggs, sausage and a cup of coffee. I had a fleeting thought that I should have waited for Isabel, but I was just too damn hungry. I’d buy her breakfast when she got up.

The eggs ended up being cooked a little more than I liked, but not enough to send them back. So I dug in and ate without pause. By the time I finished, the first drops of rain had begun to fall. I got the waitress to refill my coffee, then pushed my chair out a little and leaned back so I could watch the coming storm in comfort.

If you didn’t like rain, the Philippines-or pretty much anywhere in the tropics-wasn’t the place for you. From about mid-June until October or November, the rain seemed to be a constant thing. Typhoons, tropical storms, the frequent afternoon shower all did what they could to keep everything in a perpetual state of either wet or damp. And even when it wasn’t the rainy season, the rain didn’t stop. That’s why things stay green in the tropics. There were times, even after I moved to Bangkok, when I wished for a few dry, Arizona-type months. Of course if that had ever happened, I’d have probably hated it.

The initial smattering of droplets quickly turned into an onslaught. The surface of the pool danced like it was a pot of boiling water. When I looked across toward the palm trees that signified the end of the hotel property and the beginning of the beach, it seemed like everything had gone slightly blurry. It was as if the air itself had suddenly become liquid, and if we all didn’t grow gills in a hurry, we’d be in trouble. The humidity, probably hovering around seventy-five or eighty percent when I’d sat down, had shot up to one hundred in an instant. For a while, it was coming down so hard the sound of the rain drumming against the awning and the ground made it almost impossible to hold any kind of meaningful conversation. Kind of like being in one of the bars, now that I think about it.

I hadn’t actually seen a storm come on this strong this fast in a long time. So I stayed where I was and enjoyed the show. There was something refreshing, and, on occasion, unsettling about rain. I’m not talking about the “cleansing powers” of water, the “flushing” of the skies, the “renewal” of the earth. All those were fine and very poetic, but for me, it was a lot simpler than that.

You see, most of the important points in my life began with rain. At least that’s what I had come to believe. It rained on the day I enlisted in the Navy, it rained on the day Maureen asked me to move out, it rained on the day I boarded the plane for the Philippines, and I think it rained on the day I arrived in Bangkok. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had rained on the day I was born, but my mother had never told me and it was too late to ask.

It even rained on the night Larry and Isabel met.

After our night of talking and drinking, I didn’t think I’d see Larry again. I thought he, like most tourists, had probably met up with some girl who had caught his eye at another bar and finally lost his Angeles cherry.

So when he walked in on that Saturday night, it caught me a little off guard. I had to take a moment to recall his name, remembering it just as he walked up to say hi.

“Is it raining?” I asked.

His head and the shoulders of his avocado green golf shirt were drenched.

“Pouring,” he said. Then as if to explain his condition, he added, “I left my umbrella in my room.”

“Cathy,” I said, glancing at my number one bartender. “A towel and a beer for my friend, Mr. Adams, please.”

“Here.” She tossed one of the largest bar towels we had in my direction.

I caught it more with my shoulder than anything else, then handed it to Larry. It wasn’t exactly something you’d want to use after a hot shower, but he put it to good use removing the excess water from his hair.

“Two beers,” Cathy said. She set a bottle on the bar. “A San Miguel for Mr. Adams, and something special for you, Doc.” She set a Gordon Biersch Marzen next to the San Miguel.

My eyes widened. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

She smiled coyly. “I can be nice. Sometimes.” She walked off like she had something else to do.

I had thought I drank the last bottle in my supply months ago. In fact, I was sure of it. The ever-resourceful Cathy had apparently used one of her own connections to smuggle some in for me.

Larry motioned to my bottle. “You like that stuff?”

“Best beer ever made.”

I picked up my bottle and drank just enough to get the taste again. I let it roll over my tongue like it was a hundred-year-old scotch that had been opened for the first time. Stupid, really, but damn, did it taste good.

When I set the bottle back down, I noticed Larry looking at me. “It’s just a beer,” he said.

“I know,” I told him. “But I can’t get it here. I have to rely on friends to bring some when they come for a visit.”

Larry shook his head, an amused laugh escaping his lips.

It was pretty quiet in The Lounge, the girls outnumbering the customers by almost three to one. The rain wasn’t helping but it was still early. I wasn’t too worried. Saturday nights always had a way of turning out fine.

“Aren’t you headed home soon?” I asked Larry.

“I fly out on Monday.”

I took another sip of my beer. “Lose your cherry yet?”

He smiled. “Not yet.”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“Nope.”

Just then a group of five guys came through the door, and the noise level instantly increased. They all looked to be in their twenties, were in good shape and sported close-cropped hair. Marines, I guessed, probably on leave from one of the U.S. bases in Korea. And, from the looks of things, The Lounge wasn’t their first stop of the night. They’d all definitely been drinking, and one of them was having a hard time walking a straight line. Which, to the more business-minded papasan, meant they were probably primed to ring the bell.

“Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Larry, then got up and crossed the room to greet our new guests.

“Welcome to The Lounge, fellas,” I said once I reached them.

Several of the girls were already moving toward them, sensing potential bar fines, or at least a few drinks.

“We’ve got room right up next to the stage or booths along the wall. Your choice,” I told them.

“What do you guys think?” one of them asked. “The booths or the stage?”

“The booths,” another one said.

The others voiced their agreement so I led them over to an empty section. They weren’t really booths, more like a long padded bench that ran along the wall facing the stage. Small, circular tables to put drinks on were placed every seven feet. I got the Marines set up right in the center with the best view of the dancers.

Before they even sat down, two of the guys had already been claimed by a couple of the girls. Since the U.S. military had pulled out of the Philippines years earlier, there was a definite shortage of young, well-built male customers on Fields. So it was like a special treat for the girls. I didn’t have to read their minds to know that, if given the choice, most of them would have gone home with their catch that night for free, just for the change.

Drinks were ordered, and it looked like everyone was settled in. “You guys have a good night,” I said, intending to go back to my place at the bar.

“You American?” one of the more drunk guys asked. He was a big one, at least six foot three and two hundred thirty or two hundred forty pounds, all of it muscle.

“You betcha,” I said.

“You serve?” he asked.

“Navy,” I told him. “Twenty years.”

He thought about it for a second, then nodded. “That’s okay. At least you weren’t a grunt.”

“I’d join the Coast Guard first,” I said.

They all laughed at that.

“Yeah,” one of them said. “Army’s where you go if you can’t get in anywhere else.”

More laughter. It was an act I’d learned how to turn on whenever I needed to. The Good Sailor. Mr. Military. I knew the language. I’d heard it for twenty years. I guess it was another way for me to be the perfect host.

When I finally got back to the bar, I found that Larry was no longer alone. Nelly had shown up and was squeezed between the barstools, rubbing up against his leg.

“I see you found a little company,” I said.

“I thought you sent her over.” He sounded slightly annoyed, but there was a smile on his face.

I shook my head. “Not me.”

I had completely forgotten that Nelly had caught his attention that first night. Now I realized that maybe she was the reason he had come back. I had told him, after all, that if he didn’t find anyone else, I’d try to hook him up with her before he left town.

Cathy approached us from the other side of the bar. “You want to buy her a drink?” she asked Larry.

Nelly looked at Larry, smiling expectantly.

“Okay,” he said, looking back at Nelly. “One drink. But this doesn’t mean anything.”

Nelly shrieked a little louder than necessary, then threw her arms around Larry’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Some girls had a natural way of making a guy feel like she liked them, while others couldn’t hide the fact they were acting. Nelly, unfortunately, fell in the latter category. And while some guys either didn’t care or didn’t notice if a girl was faking it, Larry wasn’t one of them.

Nelly had flipped his off switch without even knowing it. I could see it in his eyes. He had seemed to be enjoying her company, and even though he’d said he’d buy only one drink, I could tell that one drink could have led to two, and then to who knows what? But when Nelly’s act became obvious, it was like he could barely stomach the fact she was standing next to him.

I wanted to ask him why he had even come to Angeles. I wanted to know what could have triggered the desire in him. Had he expected something different? He said he had been having a great time, but was that true? Maybe Aunt Marla would have been able to figure him out, but to me, he didn’t fit into any of the stereotypes of the guys who came to Fields.

Usually I wouldn’t have even cared. The mystery would have remained a mystery, and I would have forgotten everything by the time I woke up the next afternoon. But the truth was, I liked the guy. There was something about him that made me feel comfortable. He didn’t want anything from me, and I didn’t want anything from him. I guess that’s how friendships are born. Real ones, anyway.

So I did something I had never done since working at The Lounge. When Nelly finished her drink, and before she could start angling for a new one, I said, “Why don’t you go dance for a while?”

My suggestion-command, actually-surprised her so much, she didn’t even react at first. Cathy was a few feet away trying not to laugh. She was a smart one and had picked up the same vibe I had. Nelly, on the other hand, was having a hard time processing it.

“Go on,” I said. “Larry and I need to talk.”

If I had been anyone but the papasan, she wouldn’t have left.

“Okay,” she said. She looked at Larry. “I’ll be back.”

He smiled but said nothing.

Her own smile faltered. That was the moment she realized she’d lost him. As she turned to leave, I could see her scanning the room looking for someone else to nuzzle up to.

“Thanks,” Larry said once she was gone.

“No problem.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’m not a papasan for nothing.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

I heard the sound of a bottle being set on the bar behind me. I turned. Cathy was standing there, another bottle of Marzan sitting in front of her.

“How many more you got back there?” I asked, surprised.

She looked at me for what seemed like an entire minute, the right corner of her mouth creeping upward into a crooked smile. I thought for a moment that she might actually tell me, but instead she said nothing.

Larry raised his San Miguel. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I echoed, picking up my own bottle.

As I took a drink, I could feel Cathy still looking at me. She turned away as I glanced over, but not before I saw her look of mischief become one of resignation. This wasn’t the first time I’d noticed something similar.

I’d been single for a while by then, but the pain of Maureen was still with me. I guess I just didn’t want to believe anyone would actually be interested in me. Experience had taught me all my relationships ended, and usually with pain. I wasn’t ready to experience the pain again.

Around midnight, just after the dancers did their thing to “Love Shack,” one of the girls screamed. It wasn’t one of those mock screams you heard all the time in a place like The Lounge, the ones that came with guys and girls and sexual teasing. This was one of those that signaled anger and infuriation.

I was off my stool and heading around the bar, faster than my weight should have allowed. The scream had come from the direction of where the Marines were sitting, but my view was blocked by the stage. Most of the girls had stopped dancing, startled by the unusual noise.

As I raced around the end of the stage, I saw that the Marines’ party had grown to over a dozen. It took me a moment to realize the problem wasn’t actually with them.

Another guy was sitting a couple tables away. He was a bit older, maybe in his forties. He was sporting a comb-over and a small moustache, and had the smug look of a man who’d drunk enough to think he knew the answer to everything. Several feet away, her knees drawn up into her chest, sat Isabel. She was staring at the man, eyes blazing angrily. With one hand she seemed to be holding up the top of her bikini.

Two of the Marines had jumped up, and looked like they were ready to pummel the guy through the back of the cushion. As I arrived, I said, “Thanks, guys. I got this.”

They relaxed a little but didn’t immediately return to their table.

“What’s going on?” I asked the guy with the bad hair.

He snorted. “Nothing. Which, I’m sure you understand, is the problem.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What kind of bullshit place is this?” the man asked. His accent ID’d him as a Brit. “Look, I come in, buy a couple drinks and expect to be entertained.” He glanced over at Isabel. “Your girl there doesn’t seem to understand her job.”

“And what exactly is her job?” I asked.

Comb-over rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, all right? I’ve been coming to the Philippines for years. I could get you into a lot of trouble.”

I took a deep breath, then reached down and grabbed the man under his arms, yanking him to his feet. It wasn’t hard to do. He was actually a pretty small guy. I started pushing him toward the front door.

“Hey,” he said. “Let me go. You don’t want trouble with me.”

I stopped him, then moved my face in as close as I could without actually touching his. “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t. But when assholes like you come in here, you don’t give me much of a choice. If I were you, I’d get out of town.”

One member of my Marine backup team moved past me and opened the front door. I guided the asshole the rest of the way there, then pushed him outside. The moment he was gone, a loud cheer went up in the bar.

“Thanks,” I said to the helpful Marine.

“Nothing to thank me for. That was all you.”

One of his friends said, “I think that calls for a bell ring.”

Together they walked over and gave the bell a whack. Another cheer went up, and what started out as a potentially nasty situation turned into another Lounge party.

I looked over to make sure Cathy and the other bartenders were on top of the bell ring. Cathy gave me the “everything’s fine” wave, freeing me up to go check on Isabel.

Her position hadn’t changed, but she was no longer alone. Rina, one of our waitresses, was sitting next to her, her arm around Isabel’s shoulder. I walked over and sat on the other side.

“Did he hurt you?” I said.

“She’s okay, boss,” Rina said. “No problems.”

Rina, who seldom worked on my shifts and didn’t know me that well, was trying to protect Isabel in case I thought she was the problem.

“It’s okay,” I said to Rina. I looked at Isabel again. Some of the anger had begun to leave her eyes, but it wasn’t completely gone. What surprised me was, there were no tears. “The guy was an asshole. I just want to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”

“Only a scratch,” she said.

Hesitantly, she moved the hand I thought had been holding up her bikini, revealing a small scratch just above her left collarbone. I looked around. Lamie, one of the other dancers, was standing nearby.

“Go get a wet napkin from Cathy,” I told her.

I turned back to Isabel. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“He keep trying to touch me,” she said. “In places I don’t want him to, di ba? He said he bought me a drink, so it’s his right.”

“Did you tell him no?” I asked.

“Of course. Many times.” She paused. “When he try to pull off my top, that’s when I yell. I’m sorry, Papa. I know it’s my job, but I just didn’t like him.” A single tear escaped down her cheek, but, as far as I could remember, it was the only one all night.

Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to find Lamie with the napkin I’d asked for. Instead I found Larry standing there holding out a cup.

“Tea,” he said. “Maybe it will help.”

My thought was that tea was probably not strong enough, but Isabel reached forward and took the cup. “Thank you,” she told him.

“I’m sorry,” Larry said tentatively. “For what happened, I mean.”

Isabel shook her head. “It’s okay.” She took a sip of the tea.

“Do you want to go home?” I asked.

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

“He was just a bad man,” Rina said. “He won’t come back.”

She patted Isabel on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly. Isabel’s own smile wasn’t as confident.

Lamie finally showed up with the napkin, and I let her clean Isabel’s scratch. Within ten minutes, the whole place seemed back to normal, Isabel included. Larry left not long after that, but he made a point to check on Isabel before saying goodbye.

He had told me earlier he was going to Manila on Sunday to avoid driving down on the same day he flew out. So when we shook hands, I was sure that would be the last time I saw Larry Adams.

I was wrong.

CHAPTER NINE

When I came into work that Sunday night, the second to last thing I expected was Isabel showing up. I had told her just before she went home the previous night that she should take Sunday off. She’d only been working at The Lounge for around five months at that point, and though she was good at getting guys to buy her lady drinks-drinks for the girls that they got a cut of-she had yet to go out on an EWR. I figured with the incident the night before, she could use a day off to think about things. I would have laid better than even odds she was going to quit altogether.

But Isabel showed up right on time, as if nothing had happened. I stopped her as she walked to the back to change, and asked if she was okay.

“Fine, Papa,” she said, smiling.

Thirty minutes later, Larry arrived. That was the last thing I expected. At that time on a Sunday night, he was the only customer in the place.

“I thought you left already,” I said as soon as I saw him.

“Decided to wait until tomorrow,” he said with no further explanation.

I had a few managerial items to take care of, so I left Larry at the bar and went to the small office in back. When I came back out twenty minutes later, Larry had moved. I looked around and spotted him sitting at the table in the back corner, talking with Isabel.

I got a beer from the bar, and started to head over to them.

“Wait,” Cathy said.

I stopped. “What?”

“Give them a little time alone.”

“Who? Larry and Isabel?”

She shook her head, an expression of disbelief on her face. “Sometimes, Doc, you stupid.”

I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t understand what she meant. When I looked back at Larry and Isabel, instead of seeing two people sharing a friendly conversation, I saw a couple sitting a little closer together than mere friends would. I saw Isabel put her hand on Larry’s arm as she laughed, letting it linger there a moment, but always removing it. I saw Larry glance at her when she wasn’t looking at him, an unconscious smile on his face. More than anything, I saw two people who had stopped noticing there were other people around.

So instead of going over, I sat down on my stool.

“I didn’t see that coming,” I told Cathy.

“I already tell you. That’s because you stupid,” she said, then added, “sometimes.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Bar is stocked. Everything ready. Larry is only customer.” She looked me in the eyes. “So no, I don’t have work to do.”

“Cathy, if you weren’t so damn cute, I’d fire you right now just because I could.”

“Good thing I’m cute then.”

“Yeah. Good thing.” I picked up my beer and swallowed what was left, then set the bottle back down. “I’ve got something for you to do. Get me another beer.”

She gave me an exaggerated smile before turning to the cooler to pull out a new bottle. A moment later, she set an open San Miguel in front of me.

“No Marzen left?” I asked.

“Plenty,” she answered, then walked to the far end of the bar.

That night was another example of something surprising happening after weeks of boring, interchangeable days. In truth, this new round of excitement started the night before with Mr. Comb-over attempting to force the issue with Isabel. But the next night, that Sunday, things escalated rapidly, so much faster than any of us ever realized. The biggest surprise of the evening happened around ten thirty.

The place was still fairly empty, probably no more than seven customers. Because of that, the energy level was pretty mellow. That was actually okay by me. We’d had a run of fairly intense nights, so a little ratcheting down would allow everyone to recharge a bit.

Cathy had decided at some point earlier to rejoin me, and we were sharing a couple of apple martinis she’d just recently learned how to make.

“Not bad,” I said, as I finished off the last of my drink.

“Not bad?” she asked. “That’s it?”

“Given the choice, I’d rather have a beer.”

“You have no taste.” She replaced my empty martini glass with a bottle of San Miguel. “I think that-”

She stopped, her eyes moving from my face to a point behind me. I turned to see what she was looking at.

Standing about three feet away was Isabel, smiling shyly.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Nothing wrong.”

I waited for a moment, but when she didn’t say anything else, I said, “Well, what is it?”

I heard a sigh of disgust behind me, followed by Cathy muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

I ignored her and kept my attention on Isabel.

It took her a couple tries to finally say what she wanted to say, but when she did, the words rushed out. “Larry wants to pay my bar fine.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really, really, really,” Cathy said from behind me. “Maybe I should be the one in charge here.”

I continued to look at Isabel.

“Really,” she said.

“What do you want?” I asked.

This time the words didn’t rush out. Instead they were spoken as if she’d put a lot of thought into them. “I want to go.”

“You’re sure?”

A wet towel hit me in the back of the head. “Of course she’s sure,” Cathy said. “Can’t you see it? Her eyes are smiling.”

And indeed Isabel’s eyes were smiling. It was amazing, less than twenty-four hours earlier, those same eyes looked as if they could kill, and yet tonight all of that anger was gone. There was only happiness, innocence and hope.

But despite this and Cathy’s insistence, this would be Isabel’s first EWR, so I asked again, “Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Yes, Papa Jay. He’s very nice. He says we only have to go out to dinner, then I can go home. No hotel. No sex.”

How many times had I heard guys use that tack? A hundred? A thousand? And it was always with the idea that at dinner, or on a barhop afterward, he’d be able to convince the girl to go back to his room. But I was inclined to believe Larry meant it. After everything I’d learned about his trip so far, it actually seemed like a logical thing for him to do. Of course, he could have been lying to me about everything. He could have been a player who was playing even the papasan. But I didn’t think so. In fact, I was positive I hadn’t misjudged him.

“So, can I go?” Isabel asked.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cathy jumped in. “Of course you can.”

But Isabel knew better than to go only on Cathy’s word. She looked at me, expectant.

“Tell Larry to come over here,” I said. “Then go get changed.”

A smile as wide as Luzon Island broke out on her face. Instead of immediately doing as I told her, she gave me a big hug.

A few minutes later, Isabel was in the back changing into her street clothes, and Larry had joined me at the bar.

I asked him the same thing I had asked Isabel. “You sure about this?”

“Doc, why you always ask this question?” Cathy said.

I looked back at her. “There’s got to be somebody somewhere who needs something to drink.”

“Everybody’s good now. I’ll stay here,” she replied.

Larry nodded. “I’m sure, Doc.” It was the first time he’d called me Doc. So I guessed I had Cathy to thank for that. “I’m just going to take her to dinner. That’s it.”

“You know she’s a cherry girl,” I said.

“She told me. As far as Angeles goes, I’m still a cherry boy,” he said. “So it’s the perfect match.”

Cathy laughed. “That’s funny. You and Isabel a cherry couple,” she said.

“Just be careful with her,” I told him. “She’s still inexperienced and could get hurt really easily.”

“Doc, I told you. It’s just dinner. I’m not planning on breaking her heart.”

I chuckled, conceding his point. “Then you owe me a thousand pesos.”

“What?”

“The bar fine,” I said. “It’s a thousand pesos.”

“Right, sure. Here.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a thousand-peso note and handed it to me. He glanced back at the table he had shared with Isabel. There were several empty glasses. “What about our drinks?”

“Those are on me.”

After they were gone, in what turned out to be a minor send-off party with almost all the girls rushing over to wish Isabel congratulations, it hit me that maybe the reason Larry hadn’t gone to Manila that afternoon was so that he could see Isabel again. Later, Larry told me there was no maybe about it. Something had happened between them the night he brought her the tea. Something that had made him stay in town one more day, and made Isabel hope he would return. He couldn’t tell me what that something was. I don’t think he knew.

Most of what happened after that I pieced together from things Isabel and Larry told me in separate conversations over the next year or so.

Dinner had been a two-hour affair at a place outside the district, an Italian restaurant Larry had come across in his wanderings. I don’t know what they ate; I never asked. I got the feeling there was a lot of small talk, a lot of gazing into each other’s eyes, and a lot of tuning out everything around them.

After dinner, instead of Isabel going home per the plan she had told me, they ended up going to The Pit Stop, where they found a quiet spot and talked for hours. Isabel learned that Larry was a thirty-seven-year-old only child who had never been married, and had a fondness for chocolate-covered strawberries. Larry learned that Isabel was twenty-one, the third of seven children, sent most of her money home to her family, had a cousin who also worked in the bars, and lived in a small room with over a dozen other girls.

Larry told her about the time he was seventeen and his girlfriend broke up with him at a football game during halftime. Isabel told him how the only boyfriend she’d ever had left for Manila when she was fifteen, saying he’d come back for her but never did.

Around them, couples of the evening came and went. Some played pool, some ate late dinners. Some were just continuing the drinking they’d started God knows how many hours earlier. A typical night on Fields, but Isabel and Larry saw none of it.

Despite several hours of drinking only coffee, Isabel found herself unable to hold back a yawn around five in the morning.

Larry glanced at his watch. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve kept you up.”

“No, no. It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re tired and need to go to bed.” He looked at his watch again. “And I have to pack. There’s a car driving me to Manila in three hours.”

“Oh. Of course.” Isabel picked up her purse, and began to stand up. “I’ve had a great time.”

Larry slipped out of the booth and took her hands in his. “Me, too,” he said. He hesitated before he spoke again, not sure if it was the right thing to say or not, but then decided to go ahead anyway. “Isabel, if you want, you can come back with me to my room and get some sleep before I leave. I’m sure it’s not as crowded as your place. I just, well, don’t want this to end yet.”

Isabel’s face lit up. The way she described it, it was like the breath had suddenly gone out of her, because she didn’t want it to end, either. If Cathy had been there, she probably would have said Isabel’s eyes were smiling again.

“Okay,” Isabel said. “I’d like that.”

They walked back to the Las Palmas Hotel. Larry’s room was in the Mabuhay Building, back beyond the pool and across a small side street that ran behind the hotel. Most of the girls knew their way through the Las Palmas, but this was Isabel’s first time there, so she let Larry show her the way. He took her through the front bar, past reception, past several rooms in the main building, past the swimming pool and up a metal staircase that led to a short bridge which spanned the side street and connected with the second floor of the Mabuhay Building.

Isabel tried to walk as lightly as possible across the bridge, but no matter what she did, her wooden-heeled platform shoes-the only shoes she owned-sounded to her like the loudest things on earth every time she took a step. But if Larry noticed, he didn’t say anything.

His room was on the third floor, number 35, next to the stairs. He told her there were drinks and food in the minibar and she could help herself. She said thank you but she didn’t need anything. He asked her if she wanted to watch TV. She asked him if he did. He said no, not really, but he sometimes liked to turn it on for the background noise. Then turn it on, she told him. So he did.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” Larry asked as he opened his suitcase, preparing to put all his things back inside.

“Not yet.” She was sitting on the bed, her back against the wall.

On the TV was a music video from a Japanese band neither of them had ever heard of. Larry threw some clothes into the suitcase from one of the dresser drawers, and was going back for more when he heard Isabel get off the bed. She came over quickly to where he was.

“Let me,” she said.

He laughed. “It’s okay. I can do this.”

“No, you can’t. Look.”

She pointed at his open suitcase. Inside was the pile of half-folded, disorganized clothing he had just packed. Isabel dumped the whole pile out on the bed and began to refold everything. Larry, unsure what to do next, stood silently watching for a few seconds.

When he said, “At least let me help,” Isabel shooed him off.

He felt guilty, but Isabel seemed happy. After a moment, he said, “I guess I could go take a shower and get ready.”

“Okay,” she said.

When he came back out twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt, feeling vaguely refreshed from the hot shower, his suitcase was sitting open on the end of the bed with all his things inside. His clothes were all folded as if they were ready to go on the display shelves at Nordstrom’s. Isabel was standing nearby.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

There was still another hour and a half until his car came for him, so Larry called down to the front desk and asked for a wake-up call in an hour. The suitcase closed and ready to go next to the door, Larry and Isabel, fully clothed and on top of the covers, lay down on the bed.

I don’t know what happened after that, not for that hour, anyway. Neither of them told me and, again, I didn’t ask.

What I do know was that instead of saying goodbye in the parking lot of the Las Palmas Hotel, Isabel went with Larry to Manila, saying goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the Philippine Airlines terminal at the airport.

Goodbye, but not farewell. Not yet.

CHAPTER TEN

I called Natt on my mobile phone before I returned to my room to check on Isabel. Being back in the Philippines was screwing with my head more than I thought it would. No, that wasn’t right. It was finding Isabel that was doing it. I could have suppressed everything, just forgotten it all, if I hadn’t been able to locate her. I could have left there with unanswered questions, but with the knowledge that I had tried. Done is done and what can’t be learned, can’t be learned. That’s what I would have told myself.

Only I wouldn’t have been able to forget. Maybe I could have dived into my Bangkok life and worked my ass off. Loved Natt as best I could. Gone to sleep each night dead tired, woken up each morning to start it all again. That would have worked, but only for a while. My brain had a funny way of waiting until I thought my life was going great, then reminding me of things I thought I’d put behind me.

Natt knew this. She knew why I’d come to the Philippines, encouraged it, even.

“You found her, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I can hear it in your voice. Will she tell you what you need to know?”

“She might, but…I’m not sure I should even ask her.”

She was silent for a moment. “You’ll do what you think best.”

After my disaster with Maureen, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be with anyone again. And later, in Angeles, after I’d messed up my relationship with Cathy, I wasn’t sure I even knew how. I guess you’d call that a low point. It wasn’t self-pity, more self-devaluation. I was still happy, friendly Papa Jay, and it wasn’t an act. But when it came to me and women, I thought maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Natt proved me wrong.

I went back to the room, opening the door slowly in case Isabel was still asleep. Her bed was empty, but no sooner had I started to think she was gone then I heard the shower in the bathroom turn on.

I clicked on the TV to one of the international news channels and watched with my eyes but not with my mind. In my head, an entirely different show was on. Scenes were playing out rapidly, one after another. Scenes of possible conversations between Isabel and me about Larry. They ended in tears, in anger, one even in denial of Larry’s very existence. It was just my imagination running wild, thinking only the worst, unable to see anything else.

In the bathroom, the shower shut off. I rubbed a hand across my face, trying, if only for a few minutes, to think of nothing. When the bathroom door opened, I turned. Isabel came out wearing only a white towel. She jumped when she saw me.

“You scare me,” she shrieked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

It was a lie. Her reaction was just a little too calculated, too planned. But lying was second nature to her now. For all bar girls, it was a basic mode of survival, and Isabel had been a bar girl too long to turn it off without a lot of extra effort.

When I didn’t say anything, she walked over and sat on the bed next to me. “Are you okay?” she asked, putting a hand on the back of my shoulder. “You look sad.”

“Do I?”

Her hand moved lightly downward, tracing my spine and stopping in the small of my back. She leaned into me, her towel-covered breast resting against my arm.

“You do.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

I could feel her breath on my shoulder, then on my chest as she leaned closer. Her wet hair draped down my back, soaking my shirt where it lay. I could feel my hands begin to tremble, and in my mind, my thoughts tumbled randomly as I desperately looked for something to anchor on.

For me, one weakness, if it was big enough, begat others, and my desire to know the truth about Larry, to fill that hole inside me, was making me weak in all things. Alone with Isabel, so beautiful and willing, and me filled with all the memories that had been playing out in my mind the last two days, I was on the edge of becoming lost.

Her lips hovered just above the skin at the nape of my neck. I wanted to pull away. I screamed at myself to pull away, but my body wasn’t listening.

“Let me make you feel better,” she said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her hand move to where the towel was tucked into itself. As she pulled at it, it began to fall open.

I suddenly had a vision of Natt, happy, feeding me some of the panang moo she’d made, showing me the new dress she’d bought, holding me in the night when I had trouble sleeping. And it was enough.

I reached out and gently moved the towel back up over Isabel’s chest. I looked at her, her face still close to mine but now filled with confusion. I pulled her to me, hugging her tight.

“That’s not why I came,” I whispered in her ear.

At first there was nothing, and I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me. But then her body heaved as she began to sob. She hugged me, her fingers digging into my back. I continued to hold her, letting her know that I wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally, as her sobs grew quieter and farther apart, she said in a voice barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” I said. “No sorrys. If anything, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have visited you at the bar.”

“You wish you didn’t come see me?”

“No. Not at all.”

She frowned. “But that’s not the only reason you are here.” This wasn’t a question. If it had been, I’m not sure how I would have responded.

We sat silently beside each other for several moments, then she whispered, “I know why you came.”

Of course she did. That’s why she’d tried to do whatever she could to distract me from it.

“It’s not important. I’m just happy to see you.”

“Larry,” she said. “You came because of him.”

“At first,” I admitted. “But now I just want to buy you breakfast, and not talk about anything.”

She took a deep breath. “No one ever loved me like he did.”

A tear ran down her cheek as she leaned against my shoulder, and began crying once more.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who wanted to talk about Larry. Isabel could have left after she found I wasn’t in the room when she woke. But she hadn’t.

At that moment I realized, without her having to tell me, that she had never talked to anyone about what had happened, that she had bottled it up inside and tried to forget. But there was no forgetting. I was testament to that. She had stayed because deep down she wanted to talk, needed to talk.

Undoubtedly, she had demons much larger than mine that needed to be put to rest.

After she got dressed, we went for a long walk down the beach. The rain had stopped, though the sky was still gray and threatening. I asked her if she wanted anything to eat, but she said she wasn’t hungry. She held my hand, and occasionally leaned against me, but it was different now. We were Papa Jay and Isabel again, Big Bro and Little Sis. What had happened to us in the room, that moment of weakness-for both of us-was forgotten.

“Did I ever tell you he sent me flowers on the twenty-fourth of every month?” she asked after we’d been walking in silence for a while.

She had, but I told her no. There were things she needed to say, not for me, but to me.

“That was when we met. When we went on our first date.”

Though the two events had happened on different nights, I realized they had indeed happened on the same date-the incident with Mr. Comb-over after midnight, and the EWR with Larry less than twenty-four hours later.

“Every month he would send those flowers,” she said. “Every month. He never missed even one.”

She fell silent again. She had drifted closer to the wound than she wanted to, and wasn’t yet ready to rip it wide open. But the inevitable had to come, and when it did, just like when we worked at The Lounge, I would be there for her.

Back in Angeles in those crazy days, those of endless parties-manufactured though they were by the very nature of the business-I somehow got the reputation of being a voice of sanity. How the hell that happened, I don’t really know. But soon, if someone had a problem, more times than not, I was the one they came to.

That’s where this Doc business came from. I’m not sure who was the first to call me that, but soon people I didn’t even know were calling me by this new nickname. Larry learned it from Cathy, Cathy from Manfred, and God knows where Manfred picked it up. Tommy? Nicky? Dieter?

But Isabel never called me Doc, which was funny, because probably more than anybody, she was my biggest “client.”

When she came back from Manila after that first time she took Larry to the airport, it was three nights before she returned to work. Alona, a Lounge girl who lived with Isabel, would come to me each night and tell me, “She sick.”

When I asked what was wrong, Alona said, “Stomach, I think,” then “headache,” and finally, “I don’t know.”

It was Thursday night before Isabel showed up again.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Sorry, Papa,” she said. “I didn’t feel very well.” She tried to walk past, but I reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her.

“Stomach flu?” I asked, pretty sure it wasn’t that.

She shook her head.

“A cold, then?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

I put my hand under her chin, and tilted her head up until our eyes met. “Did something happen with Larry?” At that point, the last I knew was they were going out to dinner on Sunday night, and then she was going home.

She said nothing.

Suddenly I was concerned my assessment of Larry had been wrong. “Did he hurt you? Make you do something you didn’t want to do?”

“He would never hurt me,” she said quickly.

And then I could see it. The spark in her eye, the set of her jaw as she defended her man. Something had happened, but nothing bad, at least in Isabel’s opinion. In fact, just the opposite.

I told her to go in back and get changed. I knew I wasn’t going to get the whole story that night. It was something that would only come with time, and eventually it did.

After Larry left, Isabel had gone into a funk. First it was the sadness of saying goodbye to him. Then, despite the fact he promised her he’d come back as soon as he could, came the fear she would never see him again.

Finally, Mariella, her own cousin, the experienced, all-knowing one, and-though Isabel didn’t suspect it then-the manipulation queen of Angeles, found out and came to talk to her.

“Do you think he’s coming back?” Isabel asked her.

“Of course he’s coming back,” Mariella said. “Once you hook them, they always come back. What kind of job does he have?”

“He owns some sort of company. I can’t remember exactly. Why?”

Mariella smiled. “Good for you. But you have to be careful.”

“I don’t understand,” Isabel said.

“Don’t ask for anything yet.” Mariella gave her cousin a very serious look. “He has your cell phone number?”

Isabel nodded. “He also asked if I have an email address.”

“You don’t have one yet?”

Isabel moved her head from side to side.

“Sirang ulo ka ba?” Mariella said. “It’s so easy. We’ll go get one for you today.” Mariella took a deep breath. “When you talk to him, you tell him you love him. You tell him he’s the only man for you. You tell him you can’t wait until he comes back.”

Though all of that was true, Isabel remained quiet. Mariella, after all, had been here a lot longer than she had.

“If he asks you if you need money,” Mariella continued, “you tell him you okay right now. Some other girls might tell you different, but don’t listen to them. You got to think about the future. Like I did with David. Look at me now. He send me money every month. I only have to work when I want to. He going to buy me a house, too, when he comes in January. If you do things right, you could be like me.”

Before Isabel could even say she didn’t want to be like Mariella, that her life was not the life Isabel wished for, her cousin stood up. “Come on,” Mariella said. “We go get you an email address now.”

Several hours later, Isabel was alone again and as depressed as ever. She was even considering just going back home to her parents. Angeles was not the place for her, and she didn’t want to be there anymore.

But on Thursday morning, Larry called and life had meaning again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Months passed after Larry’s first visit to Angeles, and Fields was the same as it always was. Except for Isabel, of course.

Three times a week she’d get a call from Larry. I always knew which days those were, because she would fly into The Lounge, the smile on her face large and genuine. On other days, he would send her text messages, and while she reread them over and over, she said there was nothing like actually talking to him.

Almost every night, someone would ask her if she wanted to go out on a bar fine. She would smile, then tell them she was a cherry girl. This usually turned any would-be suitors away. The last thing most guys who came to Angeles wanted to do was waste money on someone who wasn’t a sure thing. And for those few who still persisted, she would pretend to feel ill, and disappear into the back until the man either found another girl or left.

The only money she made came from the small salary she received every night, and her share of the lady drinks bought for her. Occasionally I overheard some of the other girls saying things like “what a waste,” or “think of all the money she could have.”

About the money, they were right. She had an innocent and beautiful face that most guys would not soon forget. Her body was not one guys would forget, either. She was what Manfred would call, and did several times, the total package. Only a few of us-myself, Larry, some of the girls-knew that the total package extended far beyond just the physical.

Isabel could easily have risen beyond just being a stunner to the rank of Angeles Superstar. She could have had dates every night, raking in the pesos. Like all superstars, stories of her would reach the Internet. Guys would come to town with her on their list of must-sees. I’d seen it happen all the time. When a superstar walked down the street, no matter who a guy was with, his head would turn. She was the shit, the girl everyone wanted. Don’t think she didn’t know it, either. And don’t think the other girls didn’t know it also.

The superstar was the queen at whichever bar she worked. All the best customers were hers even if another girl got there first. Superstars had the most expensive clothes, the nicest jewelry, the highest number of foreign boyfriends sending money back to them. Then one day they’d disappear, swept off to Australia or England or Sweden or Canada or the U.S. to marry- and most likely later divorce-a man who had become more her money ko than her honey ko.

Or if they didn’t find the right guy in Angeles, they went to Manila, where there was more money to be made, and the chance to become the mistress of someone important was greater. Or they went home, where they thought their cash would make them a hero, or to the morgue, where all the cash in the world couldn’t undo the consequences of their addiction to alcohol or shabu-shabu or a jealous Filipino boyfriend’s fit of rage.

Isabel could have been one of those girls, but she chose not to be, and that made the other girls, the ones who had no chance of reaching those heights, envious. Isabel never seemed to notice, though. The girls would tell her she was crazy to wait for Larry, but she didn’t hear them. They would tell her he wasn’t coming back, but she wouldn’t believe them. And soon, instead of turning Isabel into what they wanted her to be, they began to believe that maybe she was different. That maybe she would be able to break the rules the rest of them lived by every day. They stopped telling her she was crazy and started asking her, “When is he coming back?” Every time she would answer, “Soon.” That was, until one night when she said, “Tomorrow.”

I was going through one of those periods when everything Angeles made me crazy-the drinking, the parties, the guys, and even the girls, everything pulling at me from opposite directions, setting my nerves on edge. It was at times like this I wondered if Robbie had actually done me any favors when he gave me my job.

I knew from experience it meant that I needed to get away for a while. A vacation anywhere else, even if only for a few days, would make things better. Dandy Doug used to call it his system cleanse. Every six months he’d take a week and go to Shanghai. He had a girl there, a “good girl,” he called her. He said he slept on the couch in her tiny living room. I don’t know if I believed him, but whatever happened there, it made him a new man when he came back.

I had no Shanghai girl, so instead I pushed myself to the limit, not taking any time off until my body screamed it had to get away now. Then I’d be forced into a situation of planning something at the last minute, and trying to find someone to cover my shifts. When I’d call Robbie in Australia to let him know, he was always cool about it. He knew what it was like in Angeles. Heaven and Hell, he’d call it. “Why do you think I don’t spend more time there?”

Cathy was always one of the first ones to know what was going on with me. The way she could read me sometimes was almost scary.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” she asked me the night Isabel made her announcement about Larry’s imminent arrival.

“Okay, you lost me,” I said.

Instead of my normal place, I was standing at the end of the bar nearest the front door. It was the mood I was in-antsy, I guess you’d call it. I just couldn’t sit still.

Cathy, like a shadow I couldn’t shake or really wanted to, stood on her side of the counter nearby.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

“If we’re playing some sort of word game, I’m not interested.”

“It’s definitely time.”

“Time for what?” My voice came out harsher than I had intended. About ten feet away, a couple of the girls who had been talking stopped and looked over to see what was wrong.

But Cathy looked at me, unaffected by my tone. “Have you called Robbie yet?”

That silenced me for a moment. I’d called Robbie just before I came to work. “How did you know?”

“I told you before, you can’t hide anything from me.”

She had told me that, on numerous occasions. And, as always, I chose to believe it was just lucky intuition. But truthfully, until I found Natt in Bangkok, no one ever knew me as well as Cathy did. Blessed twice, fucked up once. God, don’t let me fuck up again.

“Yeah. I called him.”

She smiled. “When you leaving?”

“I don’t know. In a couple days I guess.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

She nodded to herself. Apparently it was the answer she expected. “You want a beer?”

“Please.”

The next morning, Isabel went to Manila to meet Larry. By both accounts, their reunion was everything they both had hoped for. Victor, the guy Larry hired to bring Isabel down to Manila and both of them back to Angeles, apparently told several people that Isabel and Larry spent the entire trip whispering, then kissing, then whispering some more.

That evening at around eight thirty p.m., Isabel brought Larry into The Lounge. She was a half-hour late for her shift, but we all knew what was going on, so there was no reason to call her on it.

The minute Larry saw me, he extended his hand. “Doc,” he said. He looked much the same as the last time I’d seen him, except the smile. It was larger. “How are you?”

We shook warmly, like old friends. “Good to see you, Larry,” I said. “How was the trip?”

“Long.”

I laughed. “It is that. When did you get in?”

“We got to Angeles about noon. Isabel met me at the airport.”

“I heard.”

His smile grew a little more, not the knowing leer a newly arrived whoremonger would give me, but a shy, almost embarrassed, grin. “I pretty much slept most of the afternoon.” I saw his eyes flick past me. “Hi, Cathy.”

“Welcome back, Larry,” Cathy said. “San Miguel?”

“Sure.”

She put a bottle on the counter, opened it and then wrapped a napkin around the top. Larry started to reach for the bottle, then stopped.

“That reminds me,” he said.

He lifted up his left hand, and for the first time I noticed he was carrying a duffel bag. There was a thud as he set it on the bar.

“Should I be worried?” I asked.

“You tell me.”

He unzipped the bag. It was stuffed full with those white Styrofoam pellets used to pack things that were fragile. He shoved a hand in, and when he pulled it back out he was holding a bottle of Gordon Biersch Marzen.

“There’s ten in there,” he said. “It’s all I could fit in the bag. There’re two more in my suitcase back at the hotel to make an even dozen.”

“You son of a bitch,” I said, grinning broadly. “Thanks.”

Cathy began pulling the rest out of the bag.

“They’re all warm, so you can’t drink them right away,” Larry told me.

“Bullshit.” I turned to Cathy. “Can you get me a cold glass and a bottle opener?”

“Sure, Doc.”

“Have one with me,” I said to Larry.

“No, thanks. This will do me just fine,” he said, raising his San Miguel.

He and Isabel stayed for an hour, maybe two. After a few bottles of Marzen and a lot of laughs, I mentioned my upcoming vacation. When he asked me where I was going, I said, “Boracay Island, I think. Haven’t been there in over a year.”

“I heard of that place,” Larry said. “Nice?”

“One of the prettiest spots in the world.”

He asked me when I was leaving, and I told him I didn’t know yet, that I hadn’t bought my tickets. Not long after that, it was time for them to leave. And for the second time since she began working in Angeles, Isabel allowed herself to be bar fined. Only it wasn’t just a one-night EWR. Larry paid enough so that she could be with him his entire ten-day stay in the Philippines.

About an hour after they left, Mariella showed up. Whereas Isabel could have been a superstar but refused, her cousin, who’d been granted the same opportunity, grabbed onto it with both hands, nails dug in deep. She strode into The Lounge, a beauty-queen smile planted firmly on her face, instantly drawing the attention of everyone. Several of the girls screamed in delight at seeing her, while I noticed a few others moving quietly toward the back of the room, having no desire to talk to the woman who now commanded center stage.

Mariella had never been one of my favorites. Everything was drama around her-everything. And while she brought in more than her share of cash when she worked at The Lounge, there were days when I couldn’t help wishing she was someone else’s problem. When she finally did leave, the reason for which is still not clear to me, Cathy and I toasted quietly at the bar with champagne. She probably had more reason than anyone at that time to hate Mariella.

“Papa Jay, how are you?” Mariella had finally found her way to me, her voice dripping with all the false concern it had the last time I’d seen her.

“I’m fine,” I said, more subdued than I’d been just prior to her arrival. “How are you?”

“Good, thank you.” She leaned in and kissed me on each cheek, European style.

“Night off?” I asked.

“I make my own schedule.” Which, at The Lotus Club where she then worked, was entirely possible. “How about you buy me a drink?”

I considered saying no, but what the hell. “Sure. What do you want?”

“White wine.”

I turned to the bar, expecting to find Cathy standing there, but she was nowhere to be seen. I called over Analyn, one of the other bartenders, and had her get Mariella the wine.

There were a few moments of awkward silence. I had no desire to continue in conversation with Mariella, yet she seemed to be waiting for me to ask her something. When she finally realized I wasn’t going to, she said, “I hear Isabel was here with her new boyfriend.”

“For a while,” I said.

“That’s good, that’s good,” she said.

More silence.

“What’s his name?” she asked. “I can’t remember.”

“Who?”

“Isabel’s boyfriend.”

“I can’t remember, either.” I don’t know why Mariella was so interested in her cousin’s business, but it just didn’t feel right and I was in no mood to help her.

“Do you know where they went?” she asked. “I thought maybe I’d join them for a while. Say hello.”

“Sorry. They didn’t say.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay.” The beauty queen smile again. “I’m sure I’ll find them.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek again. “Papa, it was great to see you.”

“It was good to see you, too.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was good to see Mariella every once in a while. It reminded me why I was so happy she was gone.

She headed for the door to a chorus of “Bye, Mariella,” “Come back soon,” and “We miss you.”

I noticed Cathy peeking around the corner of the storeroom door behind the bar. She watched silently, her expression blank, as Mariella left.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When I arrived at work on Sunday night, the day after Larry’s return to Angeles, I found Larry and Isabel already there. They were sitting at the bar, having what appeared to be deep discussions with Cathy. When Cathy noticed me, she said something to them, then all three turned to me, grinning.

My altered, anti-Angeles mood had only increased since the previous evening, exacerbated by the fact I had overslept and was running about forty minutes late. So instead of walking up and seeing what was going on, I went directly to my little office in back where I stayed for fifteen minutes before reappearing.

Once in the bar, there were things to do. A couple of the girls wanted to take a few weeks off to go back to their provinces. Even when I was in a bad mood, I never denied the girls their wish to go home.

Then Nelly came to me with a guy already lined up who wanted to pay her bar fine. She was quickly becoming our new superstar-a spinner superstar. Some guys would say those were the best kind. I went through my routine of making sure she really wanted to go, but knew before I even said anything what her answer would be.

Wilma was still pissed off at Rochelle for ruining things with a guy she’d had lined up a couple nights before. Jocelyn and Helen were having their period-“mens,” they called it-but didn’t want me to tell any guy and hurt their chances at being bar fined. That way, they would at least earn their share of the bar fine, then wait until they got to the guy’s hotel to reveal their condition.

Most of the time, if this happened, the guy would send the girl home. For the girls, that meant money, no sex and early to bed, unless, of course, the guy came back to The Lounge and complained. If that happened, we always gave a refund, and that meant no cash for the girl or the bar. I probably should have insisted the girls be honest upfront, but where do you draw the line between lying to someone so they’d pay for a service they wouldn’t receive, and denying the girls a chance to make some pesos without having to spread their legs?

It was things like this, the stuff you faced only in Angeles, that would always push me to the edge. It was being surrounded by hundreds of beautiful, sexy, young, bitchy, catty, innocent, manipulative, desperate, greedy, hopeless and hopeful women every single day. It was hanging out with tired, fat, old men like Dieter and Dandy Doug, or young uber-studs like Josh and Scotty P who thought they were living out a porn star’s dream. It was dealing with the visitors, the customers, the goddamn sex tourists, and all the bullshit they brought with them. But without them, without their dollars, euros, pounds and yen, there would be no Angeles. And if you took a vote-of the girls, the guys, the nearby businesses-no one would want that. Because sex was easy. It was money that was hard to come by in the Philippines.

Sometimes, even now, it’s hard to believe I ever let myself get sucked into that whole world. Yet, when I’m in one of those lost moments, the ones that happen while I’m riding in a taxi alone or waiting quietly at a restaurant for a friend or staring at the screen of my computer, fingers paused between keystrokes, I find myself wishing I was back there, if only for a night. It doesn’t last long, but the thought does come. Even when we turn a page, find that new path, temptation never completely goes away.

So as I moved through the bar, dealing with the girls’ problems, avoiding my friends-not because I was mad at them, but because I didn’t want to subject them to my foul mood-I wondered, not for the first time, how long I would be able to do this. The problem was, if I did stop, I didn’t know what I would do next. I was still too much in the clutches, too much in Angeles. I was Doc. I was Papa Jay. All the girls knew me. I guess in my own way I was a superstar.

Finally, I made my way over to the bar where Isabel and Larry were sitting on stools on the customer side, and Cathy was standing behind the bar in her usual place.

“Busy night,” Larry said.

I grunted my agreement. I knew he’d been watching me make my rounds.

Cathy set a beer on the counter. A San Miguel, I noticed. I guess my mood didn’t rate any of the stash Larry had brought me. I picked up the bottle and drained half of it before stopping.

“Better?” Larry asked.

“Slightly.”

“You get like this often?”

“Not too often,” Cathy answered for me. “But often enough.”

I tilted my bottle toward Cathy in a mock salute, then finished the rest of the liquid inside. “Another,” I said as I set the bottle back down.

“Me, too,” Larry said, pointing to his own empty bottle. “Isabel?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“How about you, Cathy?” Larry asked.

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Before she could retrieve our drinks, Larry put a hand out to stop her. “You have any champagne?”

“Of course,” Cathy said.

“Grab a bottle.” He glanced at Isabel. “And four glasses.”

The first thing that went through my mind was that Larry had asked Isabel to marry him. They’d only actually been in each other’s physical presence less than seventy-two hours, but I’d seen it before, even after just one night together, and it had never ended pretty. The guy always lost interest, and the girl, after bragging to her friends that she would soon be moving away from the Philippines, would then be forced to make up some lie to cover the fact her departure date never arrived.

I liked Larry. I thought he was pretty smart. I even liked Isabel and Larry together. It seemed, I don’t know, right. But I was going to have to force myself to reassess if he did an idiotic thing like proposing.

Larry took the bottle from Cathy as soon as she brought it over. He worked the cork loose, then aimed the barrel of the bottle at the ceiling above the dance floor. He pushed the cork until it shot out of the end, arcing through the air and striking inches away from where one of the poles was attached.

The attention of the room immediately turned toward us as champagne spewed out of the neck of the bottle and onto the floor. The other three members of my party laughed excitedly, while the only thing I could think about was that someone was going to have to clean up the mess.

Soon our glasses were filled, and Larry, careful not to spill any more of the liquid, handed one to each of us. Once we were all taken care of, he picked up his own glass and raised it in preparation of a toast.

“To seeing friends again,” he said.

We clinked our glasses and took a drink. I even managed a smile. After all, no matter what mood I was in, the perpetual party had to go on.

Larry raised his glass again, so we all did the same. “And to vacations,” he said. “For all of us.”

Again we clinked glasses, but as I started to take a drink, I realized the rest of them were looking at me, with those same large grins they had plastered on their faces when I’d arrived at work.

“What?” I asked, setting my glass down.

“You said you needed to get away,” Larry said.

I looked at him, not quite following.

He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. Inside was an airplane ticket. I took a look at the destination.

“Boracay?” I asked.

“I hear it’s gorgeous there,” he said.

“I can’t take this.”

“My treat,” he said.

“Thanks, but-”

“It’s too late,” he said, cutting me off. “Not refundable. The hotel’s paid for, too.”

I wasn’t really sure how to react. Did I want to go? Hell, yes. And the fact I didn’t have to pay was a definite bonus. “Why?”

“Larry said it’s because you are always so nice to me,” Isabel said.

“I don’t treat you any different than the rest of the girls.”

I heard Cathy exhale, exasperated. “Just say thank you.”

I looked at Larry, the tension that had been knotted between my shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you.”

“There is a catch,” Larry said.

I looked at him, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“Isabel and I are going, too,” he said. “But you don’t have to hang out with us. Well, maybe me sometimes when she gets sick of me.” He paused. “Is that all right?”

“Sure,” I said. The thing about going on vacation by yourself, the first day was fine, but then it got boring. Having a friend along to do things with might not be so bad.

“Larry said I could bring a friend, too,” Isabel said.

“Really?” I said, suddenly knowing where this was going. I turned and looked at Cathy. “Any idea who that might be?”

“Don’t you get any funny ideas, Doc. I’m going along to hang out with Isabel.”

Another glass of champagne and I was almost feeling my normal self again. Did it bother me that Cathy was coming, too? A little, I guess, but not much. Sexual tension had been building between us for a long time. I guess I was a little annoyed it was Larry’s actions that would make me face it.

A second bottle of champagne was ordered. Around us, the bar was filling up with other customers looking for a fun evening.

I didn’t see Mariella come in, so I didn’t know how long she had been there, but suddenly I looked up and she was standing just outside our little circle.

“So, is this a celebration?” she asked, her smile showing more teeth than you would have thought possible.

“Mariella!” Isabel said happily, her voice full of affection.

As the two cousins hugged, Mariella glanced over at Cathy. To her credit, Cathy hadn’t disappeared this time.

“I tried to find you last night,” Mariella said, as she and Isabel parted. “Did Papa Jay tell you?”

“Hadn’t had the chance yet,” I said.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Mariella said in that way she had that always seemed to mean the opposite. She turned her attention to Larry. “So, Isabel, is this him?”

Isabel leaned into Larry, her smile genuine and joyful. “This is Larry,” she said, and then to Larry, “This is my cousin Mariella. I told you about her, remember?”

“Sure,” Larry said. He stood up and held out his hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Mariella bypassed the hand and went straight for a hug and a kiss on each cheek. To me, her hug seemed to linger a bit longer than was necessary, and was a bit tighter than a first greeting should have been. By the look on Larry’s face, I got the feeling he was thinking the same thing.

“Isabel talks about you all the time,” Mariella said. “Why you wait so long before you come back?” She slapped him lightly on his arm. Again, her hand seemed to linger there a moment too long.

Larry laughed. “I came as soon as I could.” He put an arm around Isabel and pulled her close. “But I agree, I wish it could have been sooner.”

“She tells me you have a very successful business. That’s great.”

“I do okay,” Larry said. I could tell it was not a topic he was comfortable talking about.

“Oh, more than okay, I think,” Mariella said. “Can I have a glass of champagne, too? Or is this a private party?” She laughed.

“Of course,” Isabel said. “Cathy, are there any more glasses?”

Cathy, her pasted-on smile unchanged, went and got another glass without a word. Larry filled it and handed it to Mariella.

“Are we celebrating something?” Mariella asked before taking a drink.

“We’re going on a trip,” Isabel told her.

There was the slightest hesitation before Mariella spoke again. “Really? Where is he taking you?”

“Boracay,” Isabel said. “I’ve never been there. I can’t believe it.”

“That’s great, that’s great.” There was another one of those split-second pauses. “You’ll have a great time. Of course, I’ve been there many times, so if you want any tips, just ask.”

“That would be wonderful,” Isabel said.

“Well, then, to the happy couple’s first trip together,” Mariella said raising her glass.

“Actually,” Isabel said in all innocence, “Larry’s taking all four of us.”

Mariella’s smile faltered. I could see her struggling to maintain her composure. “That’s great, that’s great,” she said, looking at each of us, her smile now larger than it had been when she first joined us. Then, as if to emphasize how she really felt, she added through clenched teeth, “That’s great.”

Mariella didn’t stay much longer that evening. Though Isabel begged her to remain, she said she had friends she was meeting. Isabel was the only one not relieved to see her go. Even Larry appeared to understand what Mariella was. It was in the way his eyes narrowed as he watched her walk out, like he was scrutinizing her. But Larry wasn’t dumb. He could see the admiration Isabel had for her cousin, so he said nothing.

For Cathy, it was almost like she had been holding her breath during Mariella’s entire visit. I knew how much willpower it took her to stand her ground. It wasn’t fear that had driven her out of sight the night before, it was hatred that had been held in check only by her respect for Isabel. Otherwise, there would have been a good chance of Cathy diving across the bar and strangling Mariella the minute she saw her. If I were her, I probably would have.

I think I’d been a papasan for only a month when it all went down. Cathy had been working as a bartender for three years already, starting not long after her eighteenth birthday. At some point during those years before I arrived on the scene, like Isabel, she had become involved with a foreigner. As I’ve said, Angeles is cyclical. Everything has happened before, and it’ll all happen again. Cathy’s guy’s name was Manus and he was from Stockholm, Sweden. He was a nice guy, maybe not quite the caliber of a Larry, but still worthy of Cathy’s affections. He made several trips a year, and each time would spend most of his stay with her.

With Cathy and Manus, there was never talk of the future. If he had asked her to go back with him, she would have jumped at the chance. She didn’t love him, but she did care for him. She told me once he was too old for her to fall in love with. He was somewhere just south of sixty at the time, with grown kids back home older than Cathy.

But love was not a prerequisite of marriage for the Filipinas who worked on Fields. It was enough for them if the guy loved them, and seemed like he would take care of them no matter what. That was another one of those fun Angeles contradictions-disgrace yourself in the eyes of your country as a whore, and maybe find someone who would take you away and provide you with more status than you could have ever achieved any other way. So there was no room for the girls to let their own feelings of love or lack of love get in the way.

The mistake Cathy made was confiding everything to Mariella.

Mariella had this way of making the girls feel like she was their best friend, that if they had any problems, they should go to her. But then, if the opportunity presented itself and she was in the mood, she’d sell them out. Usually it was to get something for herself, but not always. If a girl appeared to be getting more than she was, such as a decent guy and relationship that was working-like Cathy had achieved-Mariella wouldn’t wait for an opportunity. She’d make it happen.

Manus hadn’t seen through Mariella. Because he knew Cathy trusted her, he decided he could trust her, too. He told her Cathy had become very special to him, and he had decided to ask her to come live with him in Sweden. Mariella had no doubt sounded supportive, but at some point, whether in that first conversation or soon after, she let it slip that Cathy had told her only a few weeks earlier that she didn’t really love him. He didn’t believe it at first, but I’m sure as the hours passed, doubt began to set in. After all, this was Angeles, and as a seasoned veteran, he knew deep down it was all illusion.

That night he bar fined Cathy and took her to The Pit Stop. While they were eating dinner, he asked her in a calm voice, “Cathy, do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” she said automatically.

The intent of his question didn’t even register with her at first. But when his benign, silent stare was his only response, she realized something was up.

“Why you ask?” she said.

“Because I think maybe you don’t.”

“I said I do, so I do. Okay?”

Again he gave her that half smile, a longing for what had been, or what he had thought had been. “Mariella said you told her you don’t.”

Cathy’s eyes opened wide, and in that moment she realized two things. The first: she’d been betrayed. The second, and more immediately damaging: she had not hidden the look of fear that had flashed across her face. The look told Manus everything he needed to know, that Mariella had been right, and Cathy had not been telling him the truth.

So what had originally been the night Manus would have offered Cathy a new life abroad, instead became the night he gave Cathy back her same old life on Fields. Of course, she didn’t know what he had originally intended to do. That bit of information was delivered later by Mariella, who, practically in the same breath, denied ever telling Manus that Cathy didn’t love him.

It fell to me to pick up the pieces, one of my first counseling jobs in Angeles. It took a while before Cathy trusted me, but when she finally did, she told me everything.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I remember that trip to Boracay as one of the highlights of my time in the Philippines. I hadn’t expected that. In fact, I was almost dreading getting on the plane with the others. A vacation was something I absolutely needed, but, by the time we were leaving Angeles, I had circled back to thinking the only remedy to the tension that had overtaken me was a vacation alone.

We left early in a van Larry hired to take us to Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila. From there, the flight was an hour south to Kalibo on Panay Island. Larry had been told that the bus from Kalibo to Caticlan was air-conditioned. It wasn’t. Something wrong with the compressor, the driver said, as he handed out cold beers to help take our mind off the heat. From Caticlan, we took a boat across to Boracay Island.

Larry had booked us at the Royal Boracay Beach Resort. He’d been considerate enough to get three rooms, but mischievous enough to make sure Cathy’s room and mine were next to each other.

We spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around the pool, drinking margaritas, and, at least in my case, dozing off every now and then. Dinner was also at the hotel, then at Isabel’s suggestion, we went out dancing.

Despite my larger-than-average size, I wasn’t a half-bad dancer. I did resort at times to the white-man overbite, but, for the most part, I comported myself well. Usually, Cathy was my partner, although on a couple of occasions Isabel would cut in. It seemed like after we got going, the only time I would actually leave the dance floor was when a slow song came on. That was more for the girls’ benefit than my own as my shirt was drenched in sweat.

I don’t know exactly what it was, maybe being away from Angeles, maybe not having to worry about any of my girls, but I felt happier than I had in months.

No, not months. Years.

I’d been wrong. A vacation with friends was exactly what I needed, perhaps what we all needed, because it was impossible to ignore the fact that each of us was feeling exceptionally good.

That night we were free. I wasn’t a papasan, Cathy wasn’t a bartender, Isabel wasn’t a bar dancer. We were just friends on a real vacation from our surreal lives.

I think we got back to the hotel around two in the morning. We stopped at Isabel and Larry’s room first and had a quick nightcap from their minibar. I was still sober enough not to stick around too long. To give the happy couple some privacy, I told them I was bushed, then put an arm around Cathy and headed out the door.

It was a couple of minutes’ walk to our rooms, but that entire time neither of us said a word. I still had my arm around her waist, but, honestly, was only thinking of lying down and going to sleep. I really was exhausted. With the exception of a few hours of sleep the night before, I’d been up and on the go for nearly thirty-six hours.

I can only guess what was going on in Cathy’s mind. She unlocked her door and lingered in the threshold for a few minutes, telling me what fun she’d had, what a great dancer I was, how she was too excited to go to sleep. I guess what she was trying to tell me should have been obvious, but the fatigued, inebriated mind only hears in fits and starts.

I think I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead before saying goodnight. I do know I said goodnight. And when I unlocked my own door and opened it, it didn’t strike me as odd that she was still standing in her doorway, looking at me. I waved, went inside and was asleep five minutes later.

The next morning I woke up before ten, only slightly hung over and with the vague recollection that Cathy had all but tried to drag me into her room the night before. I glanced around to be sure I hadn’t later gone and invited her over, but I was alone.

After a quick shower, I threw on a pair of blue shorts and my brown, vacation-only, Hawaiian-print shirt, slipped on my sandals, then went outside. It was sunny and hot and humid. Back home in Angeles, weather like this was one of those things that had begun to annoy me, but here it felt wonderful and right.

I found Larry drinking a cup of coffee alone on the raised deck that overlooked the beach.

I grunted a good morning as I took the seat across from him, then motioned to the waitress that I’d have a cup of what Larry was having. Service was quick and soon I was properly caffeinated.

“Isabel still asleep?” I asked.

“Don’t think she’s used to getting up before noon,” Larry said.

I chuckled, my head hurting only slightly from the reverberation. “I know the feeling.”

“Cathy asleep, too?” Larry asked.

“I assume so.”

Larry raised an eyebrow. “Assume?”

“I slept by myself if that’s what you’re asking.”

Larry took a sip of his coffee. “She really likes you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I know,” I admitted.

“What about you?”

I shrugged, but said nothing.

“Not that I want to sell out my girlfriend or anything,” Larry said. “But just so you know, it was Isabel’s idea to bring Cathy along.”

“It’s okay,” I said, reaching for my cup. “I don’t mind.” It was beginning to dawn on me that I really didn’t mind. That, in fact, I might be happy she was here.

We sipped our coffee and watched waves for a while. There were already several people lounging on the white, sandy beach, and not far from shore two small boats sailed leisurely by. The water was clear and blue and near the beach you could see all the way to the bottom.

“Some of my friends back home couldn’t understand why I wanted to come here again,” Larry told me. “They said, ‘If you want to go to an island, why don’t you go to Hawaii?’ Hawaii’s nice and all, but…” He trailed off, his eyes never leaving one of the sailboats as it made its way down the coast.

“But Hawaii doesn’t have Isabel,” I said.

He looked at me for a moment, surprised at what I said, then smiled. “Exactly right. Hawaii doesn’t have Isabel.”

This was the trip when Isabel fell in love with Boracay. Larry would take her two more times, but those trips would be just the two of them. And by what Isabel told me after each one, they had been as wonderful as this first time. Larry loved it there, too. Before two days had even passed, he was already talking about buying a place on the island.

“You could use it whenever you want,” he told me.

He talked about that dream house right up until one of the last times I saw him. I could understand why. There was something special about the island. It was one of those places you just didn’t want to leave. A small tropical paradise, where the beach was never more than a few minutes away. Angeles, on the other hand, was stuck in the middle of a much larger island, hours from any beach. It might as well have been located in Kansas.

Isabel would talk about the house, too, but only when we were in Angeles and Larry was back in the States. She would go on about the different ways she would decorate it, about the type of maid she would be sure he hired, about what the view would be like from the bedroom balcony, for there would be a bedroom balcony.

On that second night of our shared vacation, we hooked up with a group of Aussies on one of those package-tour vacations. It was at the bar of another hotel. These weren’t the male-only sex tourists who came to Angeles. Instead they were a group of about a dozen married couples ranging in age from late thirties to early fifties. A hard-drinking, loud-laughing crew from Perth enjoying their last night on Boracay. They were just beginning a barhop of the hotels that lined White Beach, and since we had no set plans of our own, they invited us to join them. After a brief round of introductions, we were off.

Larry had told them Isabel was his fiancee and that Cathy and I were married. Despite the fact that the only ring Cathy wore was on the pinky of her right hand, they all bought it. Or at least pretended they did. As for Isabel and Cathy, they embraced these roles without missing a beat.

“How long have you been married?” one of the women, Noreen Simons, asked Cathy.

“Three years,” Cathy said, glancing at me to make sure I heard.

“Still the honeymoon stage,” Noreen said.

“Sometimes,” Cathy replied, a wry grin on her face.

“Where did you meet?” a woman, who had told us her name was Sherry, asked Isabel. She was one of the older members of the group, her graying hair cut short, and looked like she could drink most anyone under the table.

“Larry was on business in Manila,” she said as if she’d told the story a million times. “A cousin of mine introduced us.”

“What kind of business are you in?” Sherry’s husband, Curtis, asked Larry.

“International shipping,” Larry told him.

“How ’bout you, Jay?” Curtis said. “What do you do?”

“Not much. I’m kind of retired.”

“Kind of?” another man said. I think his name was Taylor.

“Occasionally, I have to do something to keep myself busy.”

They all laughed, and it was enough to change the subject to something new.

It was an evening of talk, drinking, laughing, dancing, a couple of horrible games of pool, and a final toast of champagne on the beach from several bottles appropriated from the last bar we’d been in.

“I’m going to hate getting on that plane tomorrow,” Curtis said to me. We were standing a few feet away from the others. “Perth’s nice, but it’s home, know what I mean? This place…it gets under your skin. Makes it hard to leave.”

I raised the bottle I was holding and took a drink. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

There was no question of Cathy sleeping in her room that night. We had spent an entire night acting like a recently married couple, so after a while it seemed like we were. Once we were back at the hotel, we didn’t even pause at her door.

In my room, in the darkness just before dawn, I held on to her sleeping form, her soft, brown skin pressed up against me. She’d been asleep for over an hour, but I had yet to close my eyes.

I’d been fighting this. I’d been fighting this for so long I almost forgot how not to. This longing, this need, this yearning for someone. I’d been fighting it since Maureen, keeping all of it always at arms’ length. And I’d been fighting with Cathy, the idea of her. Because in her I knew was an answer. Maybe not the answer, but enough of one to drop my guard again. And as I lay there, the scent of her filling me with more contentment than I could have imagined, I was still afraid. I was afraid of tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. Because I knew at some point the inevitable disaster would come to signal the end of our relationship.

There was no way I could know what form it would take, but that didn’t matter. It was out there somewhere, waiting.

There were times, as we explored the island or sat on the beach or ate a meal, when I found myself looking at Cathy while her attention was elsewhere. I wish I could say it was because I was enthralled by her, or was trying to memorize every line of her. But it wasn’t that.

I could see the concern she had for me-the care, I guess you’d call it. I could see the bond of our friendship, which had grown so much stronger, and yet so much more fragile, during our time on the island. I could see thousands of possibilities. But what I was really looking for was unlimited potential. And no matter how much I looked, that was the one thing I was unable to find.

“Do you want some mango?” she would ask. But what I heard was, “This is good for you. You should eat it.”

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” she’d say. What I heard was, “You need exercise, not another nap.”

And when she said, “It took you long enough to finally notice me,” my mind translated it as, “You’re mine now. You don’t need anyone else.”

Every day, I would have to stop and remind myself that this was Cathy, the best friend I had at The Lounge, probably in all of Angeles. Whatever twists my mind put into what she was saying were faulty interpretations that had been skewed by emotions I hadn’t expected to feel, and didn’t know how to control.

As each day passed, I got better.

On the last night there, as we lay in bed, her head pressed against my chest, she said, “I wish we could stay here forever.” What I heard was, “I wish we could stay here forever.”

In a voice so low I wasn’t sure she actually heard me, I said, “Me, too.”

Finally it was time for our small, tropical island vacation to end, and for us to return to our large tropical island home. We didn’t have to be in Kalibo until late afternoon, so we spent the morning on the beach.

“Thanks, Larry,” I said. We were sitting on our towels watching Isabel and Cathy wade into the water.

He only smiled at first. “You’re welcome,” he said a moment later.

“This was exactly what I needed.”

“So you’re ready to return to your nine-to-five grind, then?”

I laughed. “Yeah. I think so.”

There was a family playing at the edge of the water. A little boy who couldn’t have been more than five ran in and out of the waves, laughing uncontrollably. His sister, who looked to be around eight, splashed him every time he ran past. The parents were in on the fun, too. Each of them pretending to chase their son, but never being able to catch him. But it was the daughter who caught my attention the most. Even though she was Asian-maybe from Japan or Singapore or even Manila-she reminded me of Lily. It was in the way she took complete joy in her brother’s fun. It was like he was the most important thing in the world to her. And while I was sure there were times when he pissed the hell out of her, right then and there, she was everything a sister should be. She was everything a person should be. Lily didn’t have any siblings, but I had seen that same look in her face countless times.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Larry said.

Reluctantly, I turned my attention from the family back to him. “Sure,” I said. “What do you need?”

“I need you to watch over Isabel.”

My eyes narrowed slightly, as I tried to read his face. “What do you mean? Keep tabs on her and let you know what she’s up to?”

He looked startled. “No. That’s not what I mean at all. I just want you to be her friend. Be there for her if she needs someone to talk to.”

I relaxed a little. “I do that already.”

“I realize that. But,” he paused, knowing the words he was about to say were trite, but not knowing any other way to say it, “she’s special.”

“I know.”

“It’s like she’s the only-”

“Larry,” I said, stopping him. “I know.”

He smiled sheepishly, and again silence descended on us. As the girls walked out of the water and began heading in our direction, Larry said, “I’m going to send her money every month.”

“That’s between you and her.”

He looked over at me. “If something happens and she needs more, if you think she needs more, that’s when I want you to contact me. You don’t have to tell me what it’s for. Is that okay?”

I smiled and nodded. “That’s okay.”

A lot had changed during that week away, the most important being Isabel and Larry’s love moving from potential to genuine. It was still too early to talk of marriage, but we all knew it was waiting on the road ahead. As for Cathy and me, we’d moved from coy teasing to secret lovers. I had told both her and Isabel that I didn’t want the rest of the girls to know what was going on. I couldn’t have it interfering with my job. Did I really believe it would remain secret forever? No. But I hoped it would for a while.

And it was also on that trip that Larry and I moved from acquaintances to friends-good friends, even. I was going to miss the son of a bitch when he left in a few days.

As we drove from the airport in Manila back to Angeles, Larry had the driver make a quick stop at a store. He darted inside and five minutes later returned with a bottle of cheap champagne and a stack of paper cups.

Once we were back on the road, he poured each of us a cupful of the wine.

“To a great vacation,” he said.

“To a great vacation,” we all echoed.

Soon we’d be back in Angeles, at the party that never stopped, but at that moment, we were just four friends having a little party of our own.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We had been walking in silence on the beach for fifteen minutes. The clouds had actually begun to break up some, and I was beginning to think maybe we’d miss most of the storm. Others must have been thinking the same thing, as the regular noises of the beach-the fishermen preparing their boats, the tourists talking and laughing and playing on the sand, and the young kids walking up and down selling necklaces and sunglasses and candy bars-that had been missing earlier returned. For a while we stood down at the water’s edge, letting the warm sea wash over our feet.

Because it suddenly felt natural to do so, I began talking about Larry. And once I started, I found it hard to stop.

I told her about the first time I had met him. I talked about the jerk with the comb-over and Larry’s offer of tea. Her face grew pained as I went on, but she didn’t try to change the subject. Most of what I told her was stuff she already knew, but just hadn’t thought about since she locked it all up in that place she kept her most painful memories. I imagined that room was crammed full, mostly with memories of Larry, but not all. When I got to that trip the four of us took to Boracay, Isabel finally teared up. After I told her what Larry had said to me as we watched her and Cathy play in the water, a few tears escaped.

“You know you meant everything to him,” I said.

She nodded.

“Even then,” I said.

She nodded again.

“He wasn’t like the other guys I’ve met since he-” she stopped herself, then said, “after him. He was not like anyone I ever meet in Angeles, or here, or even at home, before.” Before she’d come to work at The Lounge, she meant. Before she started the job that had become her life.

We walked on for a bit, then she said, “Except maybe you.”

“No,” I said. “Not me. I was like everyone else.”

She shook her head, but said nothing.

I went back to our vacation on Boracay, talking about our trip home, and how, though I felt refreshed and able to handle work again, I was sad it was over.

“What I remember most,” she said, “was that monkey.”

It took me a second, then I laughed. “I’d forgotten all about that,” I said.

That damn monkey. It had to have been our third or fourth day there. We were on the beach, not far from Boat Station 1. This guy, a local who looked sixty but was probably not much more than forty-five, was offering tourists the chance to take a picture with his monkey. It was small, with reddish hair and a bored look on its face. The local guy had it tethered to a palm tree with a piece of dirty rope that was tied to a homemade leather collar around the monkey’s neck.

“For some reason, Larry really wanted to get us all to take a picture with it,” I said, remembering.

“He told me he’d never seen a monkey that close before.” Isabel was barely able to keep from laughing. “Even at the zoo, he never got that close.”

“That stupid, fucking monkey,” I said.

Larry had spotted the guy and his monkey first, and had sprinted ahead of us. By the time we caught up, he was leaning down, his hand outstretched, but not yet touching the animal.

“What’s his name?” Larry asked the owner.

“Julio,” the guy said.

“Hey there, Julio.” Larry was like a little kid. “Can I pet him?”

Julio’s owner shrugged. “You want to take a picture with him?”

Larry’s eyes lit up. “Hell, yeah.”

“Three hundred pesos.”

Cathy immediately jumped in, speaking in Tagalog so fast I couldn’t understand her. Two minutes later, with the price down to a hundred pesos, we were grouped with our backs to the ocean, the monkey sitting quietly on Larry’s shoulder.

Larry had given the owner his digital camera and had explained how it worked, but the guy seemed to be having problems getting the shot. Several times Larry had to walk over-the monkey still on his shoulder, grabbing Larry’s hair so as not to fall-to show the guy what he needed to do.

On the third trip, I guess the monkey had had enough. He shrieked in annoyance. Isabel jumped one way while Cathy jumped the other, each screaming in surprise and fear. This new complication didn’t sit well with Julio, who grabbed on harder to Larry’s hair, shrieking again.

Instinctively, Larry reached up to pull the monkey off his head, but Julio just slapped his hand away. This whole time the owner kept trying to get the camera to work, impervious to the noise and confusion.

Julio apparently decided he’d had enough of the entire event. He screeched once more, then leaped onto the sandy beach and ran back to his spot at the base of the palm tree.

“Are you all right?” I asked Larry.

“What?” he said. He was holding his head where Julio had been hanging on.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think so. Except I can’t hear a damn thing in this ear.” He massaged the outside of the ear Julio had been screaming into.

Julio’s owner walked up and held out the camera. Larry took it from him.

“I think you should give us our money back,” I said.

The guy stared at me, like he didn’t understand, when I knew he did. Cathy and Isabel had rejoined us by now, both of them keeping a wary eye on Julio. Cathy told the guy in Tagalog to give Larry his money back, but the guy basically told her no refunds, then started to walk away. Cathy reached out to stop him, but Larry put a hand on her arm.

“It’s okay,” Larry said. “Let him keep the money.”

He held up the camera. “Who knows? Maybe we got the shot.” He smiled broadly. “Besides, I can’t say I’ve ever had a monkey angry at me before.”

We all started laughing. And several times over the next few hours, Cathy or Isabel would impulsively reach over and tug on Larry’s hair.

Later, when we had a chance to look at the results, we found that the guy with the monkey had been able to get only one picture taken, a close-up of his own feet. Larry printed out copies and gave one to each of us. Mine was pinned to the wall behind the bar in The Lounge. For all I know, it could still be there.

The memory brought a welcome change to Isabel’s mood. No doubt, for the last three years, only one memory of Larry had dominated her thoughts-that he was gone. That he’d been killed on a dark street only a few blocks away from The Lounge. It certainly was the image I couldn’t get out of my mind.

Now she seemed willing to talk. More than that, she sounded as if she had come in search of me to make me remember.

“I hated going back to Angeles after that,” she said. The sun had begun to dominate the sky again so we stopped under the shade of a couple of palm trees, sitting down on warm, white sand. “I was scared of that first night after he leave for America, when I have to be back at work talking to some other guy. I was afraid they’d touch me, like that other customer did. Or whisper something stupid in my ear. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding.

“I thought, what do I do when one of them ask me to go bar fine? But I could not make enough money anywhere else. My family, they rely on me, di ba?” She paused, not expecting an answer from me, but momentarily lost in thought. “But Larry seemed to know anyway. He told me the last night before he go home from that trip what he and you agree on.”

She looked at me, eyes moist but not tearing, then smiled and leaned into my shoulder.

“I wish she didn’t have to work here,” Larry said. “No offense, but I worry about her all the time. I know you try to take care of her, but you don’t work every night. And she’s not the only girl you have to watch over.”

We were sitting at the counter in The Pit Stop overlooking Fields Avenue. It was three in the afternoon on the day before Larry was to return to California, and two days after our return from Boracay. As usual, it was hot, and the electric fans Carter had mounted near the ceiling were doing little to relieve the discomfort. I could already feel my shirt sticking to my back. My only relief was from the large iced tea sitting on the counter in front of me.

There wasn’t really anything I could say, so I took a sip of my drink.

Larry was right; I couldn’t be Isabel’s keeper. Nor would I want to be. That wasn’t what he was asking. I’d known him long enough at this point to be fairly certain he wasn’t one of those guys who wanted to control their honey ko’s every move. Those were the guys who figured out how to pinpoint their girls’ cell-phone location after a call. They were the ones who had their friends go into the bars to see if their girlfriend was still working after she said she’d stopped, or had them try to bar fine her after she swore she only worked for lady drinks and didn’t go out on EWR, or follow her to see if she had a Filipino boyfriend on the side, never realizing that if she did have someone else, the man on the side was the foreign guy, not the Filipino boyfriend.

Larry’s concern didn’t seem to be rooted in a sense of control and jealousy. His concern seemed more genuine, more obvious. There was nothing beyond the desire for Isabel to have the best life she could have.

On the street in front of us, there was a steady trickle of girls in their street clothes, walking past on their way toward the bars where they worked. Some were dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, while others looked like they were ready for a night on the town. There were the stunners and spinners and cherry girls and all the other types that populated the bars of the district. They were in pairs and groups and occasionally alone. Some walked down the street talking and laughing with each other, while some walked purposefully, eyes straight ahead as if unaware of anyone around them. Then there were those who were fully aware of everything. These were the ones who would glance over at the guys they passed, smiling and waving and joking with them before turning their attention elsewhere. Always working, always on.

Because I was on the inside, part of the Angeles inner circle, I knew a lot of the girls, maybe not all by name, but at least by face. And they knew me, too. So when they saw me I would get the smile and the wave, but I would also get “Hi, Papa,” “You haven’t come to see me in a long time, Papa,” and “I miss you, Papa.”

It was a parade of sorts. Unofficial and unorganized, yet so memorable and eye-pleasing that many guys who visited Fields considered it one of the highlights of the day. Some guys would follow the ones they found particularly intriguing back to the girl’s bar, or sometimes they’d even try to get a girl to skip work altogether and go with them on the spot.

Larry, though, didn’t seem to notice any of it. His eyes were focused on the roof of Jolly Jack’s, directly across the street. “I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“How do I make her understand that I’m just trying to help?” he asked.

“I’m not quite following you.”

He looked over at me and smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Here’s my problem. I told you I was going to send money every month, right?”

I nodded.

“I’m planning on it being enough so that she doesn’t have to work anymore,” he said. “But she says she doesn’t want me to send her anything at all.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He took a deep breath, shrugging slightly. “I told her she could go back home to her family, but she doesn’t want to do that. She said she’s not after my money. She said she’s not one of those girls, and that she has a job and makes her own living.”

It’s funny-if someone like Mariella had said that to a guy, I would have known she was just playing him, making it so that he thought she cared about him, before she would finally give in and say yes. The guy would probably offer her even more money in the end. But with Isabel, it was different. I’d seen with my own eyes what Larry meant to her. And if she had told him she didn’t want his money, she meant it.

“Every time I bring up the subject, she cuts me off,” he said. “She doesn’t even want to talk about it. I don’t know if it’s pride or what, but, Doc, I’ve got to do something.”

“Some of it’s pride,” I said. I took another sip of my iced tea. “She wants you to know that she’s not like the other girls here.”

“I know she’s not. I tell her that all the time.”

“That doesn’t matter. Look around,” I said, gesturing to the street where the parade of girls was at full force. For the first time, he seemed to notice. “See those guys over there?” I pointed toward a group of men gathered near the entrance of The Eight Ball, talking to the door girls while keeping an eye on the parade. “This is Isabel’s life, day after day. These are the only people she knows right now. This is her reality. When she says she’s not like the other girls, that’s not completely true.”

I could see Larry’s eyes narrowing.

“Let me finish,” I said. “When she says that, what she really means is that she’s not like those girls who are here only to take the guys for as much money as they can. She’s telling you she’s not one of the ones who’ll have multiple guys around the world who think of her as their girlfriend and send her money every month. The fact that she is just the opposite, and not the only girl on Fields who is, doesn’t really matter. Because of this place, what it is, she’s afraid that your first inclination will be to think she’s just another money-hungry bar girl.”

“But I never believed she was one of them,” he said.

I looked at him silently for a moment. “Before you go judging them,” I said, my tone dead serious, “remember they’re only doing what they’ve learned to do to survive. And they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for all of us.” I glanced across the street at the guys still camped out in front of The Eight Ball, then looked at Larry. “All of you.”

“No, no. You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just worried about Isabel.”

“I know you are,” I said.

As the girls continued to walk by, I noticed another familiar face. It was Jade. She used to be one of the dancers at The Lounge when I first started, but she was getting old for the job. I think she was about twenty-seven then. She’d been offered a position as a mamasan at one of the smaller bars, and had jumped at the opportunity. She always had a good head for business, and had moved on from that small bar to become a mamasan at a much larger place called The Rack.

I waved to her when she got close, and she stopped on the street just below us, hands on her hips, looking up. “Hey, Papa. What’s going on?”

“Hi, Jade. Where you off to?”

“Work. Starting early tonight. Who your friend?”

“This is Larry,” I said. “Larry, this is Jade.”

“Hi,” he said.

“Ah. Is this the famous Isabel’s Larry?” she asked.

Larry’s eyes opened wide.

“One and the same,” I said.

“He’s cute. You tell Isabel I say so, okay?” she said.

“I’ll try to remember,” I said.

“Hey, Papa. We have anniversary party for bar on Thursday night. You off that night?”

“Not this week.”

She gave me a faux pout. “Too bad. We having body-painting contests and I know how much you like that.”

I laughed.

“Okay. Gotta go. Good to meet you, Isabel’s Larry. Bye, Papa.”

We said goodbye and watched her walk off.

“How did she know about me?” Larry asked.

“Nothing’s ever private in Angeles,” I said. “Besides, Jade is one of Mariella’s friends.”

The smile on Larry’s face slipped a little. “I don’t like her,” he said.

“Jade’s all right,” I told him.

“That’s not who I meant.”

I took a sip of my iced tea. “I know who you meant,” I said.

Silence overtook us again for a few minutes.

“I have an idea,” I said. There was only a little bit left in my cup, so I drank it all down in one gulp.

“What?” Larry said.

“What if I make Isabel a waitress instead of a dancer?” I asked. “I’ll bump her pay just a bit. It doesn’t mean guys are going to stop asking to bar fine her, but it’ll happen less and it’ll also be easier for her to say no.”

“Really?” I could see actual hope in his eyes.

“Sure.”

“But what about the money I want to send her?” he asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then said, “Send it to me. I’ll open an account for her and put it all in there. When she’s ready, she can start using it. In the meantime, if there’s an emergency, the money’s there.”

He thought about it for a few moments, running the idea through his mind. “Okay. Yeah. That’ll work. But I’m not going to hide anything from her. I’m going to tell her what we’re doing.”

“That’s your choice.”

And so it was settled. Larry would be happy that he was doing something to make Isabel’s life a little easier, and Isabel would be happy she could prove she wanted him for something other than his money. And in the end, Isabel hadn’t been lying. The first time she ever touched that money was two weeks after Larry died. And on that day, she withdrew it all and left Angeles for good.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

For those of us whose life was Angeles, the party rolled on. Hangovers and catfights and bell rings and beer and dancing and half-worn bikinis and bar fines and pool and everything and anything that was Angeles-it was all part of the cycle that never ended. Get on or get off, because there was no in between.

Isabel adapted quickly to her new role as waitress, making as much as, if not more than, she had when she’d been a dancer. And every month, money would come in from Larry, more than enough so Isabel could live comfortably, send some home, and quit work if she wanted. But even though I told her every time the money arrived, she would just nod and say she didn’t need it then.

In that, I think, she probably was unique among the girls on Fields. Even if they had really believed they weren’t going to touch it, most of the girls would have ended up taking it out anyway. The temptation was too great, and the pressure from the other girls for them to use it would have been tremendous. The majority of girls on Fields had a bad case of spend-what-you-got-and-don’t-worry-about-next-week. But for the longest time, Isabel and I were the only people who knew about her situation so I guess that helped.

Larry fell into the habit of visiting every two or three months. Sometimes he’d spend the whole time in Angeles, other times he’d take Isabel away for a while. To Manila, to Puerta Galera, back to Boracay. He also became one of my steady suppliers of Marzen.

As far as Cathy and I were concerned, I was able to keep that secret from the girls at The Lounge for a good week and a half. And once the news was out, the incessant teasing began. The one thing I noticed was that the girls became a bit more respectful of Cathy. It wasn’t that they didn’t treat her well before, it was just that they had collectively decided she had more power now. And instead of trying to downplay this, I decided to use it to my advantage, leaving Cathy in charge for hours on end while I went to “run an errand,” which usually involved having a beer with Dieter at Sinsations or with Hal at Tricks. Cathy seemed to enjoy the new responsibility and even talked about maybe being a mamasan one day.

Just a little less than a year after that group trip to Boracay, I was sitting in the back office at The Lounge, ostensibly going over the books but in reality doing the crossword puzzle in a two-week-old copy of the New York Times someone had left behind that afternoon, when I heard a scream from the bar.

This, in itself, was a bit surprising, as usually I couldn’t hear anything over the music. But it was just after six p.m. and the place had been pretty empty so the music was turned down low.

I was out of my office in a shot, and heard another scream just before I entered the main room. In the bar, I found the girls grouped together near the front door, but no one seemed to be in distress. In fact, most of them were smiling or laughing.

Their attention was focused on a guy who had just entered. He was a big guy, not tall, but not fat either. He had the look of one of those guys who spent their entire day in the gym lifting weights. Muscles bulged everywhere, and while he could have probably lifted fat ol’ me off the ground without effort, I wasn’t going to test him.

It was Rudy, of course, he whose last name I never got because I never asked. He acted the part of the gentle giant, but in reality, he was more of a giant asshole. Wavy blond hair, Nordic chiseled face, and a temper lying just below the surface that could erupt without warning. He was one of the Angeles regulars, a Dane, I believe, who’d immigrated to the U.S. as a teenager, and now lived in the Midwest somewhere. He’d planned his trips around holidays in the U.S. He was always coming to the island at Thanksgiving, and this time, since it was nearing the end of May, he was obviously taking advantage of the upcoming Memorial Day three-day weekend.

Rudy had a way with the girls that was all his own. He had been coming regularly for over ten years, and Jade had told me once that he used to be a lot different than how he was by the time I met him. “Respectful and kind,” she’d told me. “Just a nice guy.” But now he had taken to using sarcasm as charm, and treated the girls as toys who were there for his pleasure. And if that weren’t enough, he was the king of breaking one of the Cardinal Angeles Sins. He was a butterfly, someone who’d bar fine different girls from the same bar on different nights, something he took great pleasure in.

I had a conversation with him once when we were both still sober that went something like this:

“If I see something I like in a bar,” he said, something his pronoun for the girls, “I tell her I want to bar fine her. If she says no, I turn to her friend, because they always got friends around, and I offer to bar fine the friend, and promise her an even bigger tip than I would have given the first girl.”

“And that works?” I asked, knowing that it probably would, but disapproving of anyone who would try it.

“Nine times out of ten the friend’s sitting in my lap two seconds later.”

“Good for you,” I said, unable to hold the sarcasm from my voice.

“Look, it’s their job, right? So if they don’t want to do their job, fuck ’em.”

“You’re an asshole.”

He shrugged. “I’m here to have fun and get laid as many times by as many girls as I can. If a girl doesn’t like my sense of humor or the way I’m treating them, someone else will. I’m not trying to win any nice-guy medals. This is my vacation, and when I’m on vacation, my heart stays at home.”

I doubted he had a heart at home, either, but the sad thing was, he was right. There was always a girl who would take his money. Most of them knew what he was like going in, so they didn’t care. But occasionally he’d hook someone who expected him to come back for her, and she’d stare in shock when he came back to her bar and took someone else.

“Ladies, ladies. There’s plenty of Rudy to go around,” he said.

He was still surrounded by the mob. No matter how big an asshole he could be, he still fascinated the girls. Several of them were squeezing the muscles on his arms while others grabbed at the bits of chocolate candy he was handing out.

I glanced around the room to make sure no other customers were being ignored. The only other guy in the place was sitting in one of the booths, cuddled up next to Wilma. So I put on a big smile and walked up to the crowd.

“Rudy,” I said. “Welcome back.”

“Hi, Jay.” He thrust a hand at me, nearly taking Rochelle’s head off as he did. I grabbed it and gave it a quick shake.

“I heard some screaming and thought maybe we were having a riot,” I said.

“Everywhere I go is a riot.” Rudy laughed at his own joke. “I was just giving a couple of these little beauties bicep rides. Come on, girls, let’s show him.”

He held his arms out, angled slightly downward. Two of the smaller girls, Tessa and Noreen, wrapped their hands around his biceps, Tessa on the right and Noreen on the left. Slowly, Rudy moved his arms upward until both girls, their legs bent at the knees, were dangling above the floor. Rudy continued raising his arms until he looked like a bodybuilder holding a pose at a contest. Both girls screamed as he began twisting at the waist, moving them back and forth.

After he set them back down, I led him over to a booth. Several of the girls followed, piling in around him on the bench. Isabel appeared beside me ready to take his order, so I asked, “Something to drink?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Any preference?”

“This is the Philippines, so a San Miguel, of course.”

Isabel was about to turn and retrieve his drink when Rudy said, “Hold on there. Not so fast.”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Let’s see.” He looked at his temporary harem. “Lady drinks for her, her, her and her.” He pointed at a different girl each time. “But not for her,” he said, gesturing at Lamie. “You stood me up last time. So you’re out.”

Lamie gave a halfhearted laugh and looked around, uncertain.

“I’m serious,” he said. He flicked his hands in an outward motion. “Shoo. Find someone else, because you aren’t drinking from this well.”

One of the girls, Veta, leaned over and whispered something in Lamie’s ear. Lamie looked past her at Rudy, then got up and left.

“What did you tell her?” Rudy asked.

“I told her she should just go,” Veta said. “That you weren’t interested.”

“Good girl.” Rudy looked back at Isabel, pointing his thumb toward Veta. “She gets two lady drinks.”

“Anything else?” Isabel asked.

“Get yourself a drink, too,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks,” Isabel said. She turned and headed for the bar.

“Who’s that?” Rudy asked me, as if none of the other girls were around.

“Isabel?” I said. “You never seen her before?”

Rudy started to shake his head, then stopped. “Didn’t she used to be a dancer?”

“For a while.”

“She’s fine,” he said.

“She have boyfriend,” Veta said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She no go out on bar fine.”

“That a fact?” he asked, looking straight at me.

“Afraid so,” I told him.

“Too bad.” His eyes lingered in Isabel’s direction a bit longer than I would have liked.

Rudy stayed for another hour, judiciously handing out chocolates and occasionally starting tickle fights with Veta and the other girls. But when he left, he left alone.

“I don’t like him,” Isabel said to me.

I was standing near the bar, talking with Cathy and keeping an eye on our meager crowd, but I didn’t have to ask her who she meant.

“Something happen?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said in a way that told me the opposite.

“You gonna tell me?”

“Not important.”

“Tell him,” Cathy said.

Isabel frowned, then told us how Rudy had offered to bar fine her. She told him no. But ten minutes later, he asked again. When she told him no for a second time, he said he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, and that before he left to go back home, she’d go out with him.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I said that I was sorry but I don’t go out with anyone. I am just a waitress, I tell him. ‘You cherry girl?’ he ask me. I tell him that is my business. Then he laugh and not bother me anymore. See, it was nothing.”

Isabel smiled confidently, then left to get drink orders from a new group that had just arrived.

“I think maybe it was more than nothing,” Cathy said.

“So do I,” I said.

It turned out to be a slow night all around, and by three a.m. we’d seen the last of our customers. I waited a half hour before officially closing, then told all the girls who remained to head home and get some sleep.

By this time Cathy was basically living with me. She still shared an apartment with a couple of girls from her province who worked at the Bang-Bang Club, but she was seldom there. Our routine was to close everything down, make sure everyone was gone, then lock up and take a trike home.

I’d gone into the back for a minute to turn off all the lights. When I returned, I found Cathy talking to Isabel and Noreen. The tone of their conversation seemed serious.

“Everything okay?” I asked as I walked up.

They immediately stopped talking and looked up at me.

“Well?” I asked.

Cathy glanced over at Isabel, as if she was waiting for her to say something. But Isabel remained silent, so Cathy said, “He’s out there.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. It had been a long night and I wasn’t connecting the dots.

“The big guy,” Noreen said. “You know, from earlier tonight.” She held her arms out like a bodybuilder.

“Rudy?” I asked.

“Yes,” Noreen said. “I see him out there. He ask me if Isabel leave yet. I tell him yes, but I don’t think he believe me. So I tell him I go back inside and check.”

I looked at Isabel. “Have you gone out there yet?”

“No,” she said.

“Okay. Noreen, you come with me,” I said. “Let me do the talking.”

“What will you tell him?” Isabel said.

“That you’re gone.”

I put a hand on Noreen’s shoulder and could feel her trembling slightly under my touch. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll deal with him. You can just go home.”

Cathy unlocked the deadbolt for us and opened the door so we could exit. Manny Aznar, who’d appointed himself my personal ride-home driver, had parked his trike right in front of The Lounge, just beyond the sidewalk. He jumped off his seat the minute he saw me.

“Hi, boss,” he said. “Home now?”

“Not yet,” I said.

I looked around, but didn’t see Rudy at first. Noreen nudged me, and when I looked down, she motioned with her eyes to my left. And suddenly there he was, an image of Thor, leaning against the building. He had one of his Mr. Happy smiles on his face.

“What’s going on, Rudy?” I asked.

“Just hanging out.”

“Noreen tells me that you’re looking for Isabel.”

“Then Noreen has a big mouth,” he said, still smiling.

Noreen slid behind me a little more. “Why don’t you go home?” I said to her.

She tried to smile, then nodded and was gone.

“Isabel’s not here,” I said.

“I haven’t seen her leave.”

“You been here long?”

“Long enough.” He pushed himself off the building and took a step in my direction. Even in the glow of the streetlights and nearby neon bar signs, it was hard to tell whether he was drunk or not. But Fields being Fields, it was best to assume he was.

“You been here since ten o’clock?” I asked.

He stopped about five feet away from me, still grinning. “Like I said, I’ve been here long enough.”

“Well, unless you’ve been here since ten,” I said, “then you wouldn’t have seen her leave. That’s when she went home sick.”

He furrowed his brow, his smile slipping a bit. “She didn’t seem sick earlier.”

“She’s not going to act sick in front of the customers.”

He seemed to consider this new information. “You’re sure she’s gone?”

“I already told you she was.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow and see how she’s feeling.”

“Sure,” I said. “But I can’t guarantee she’ll be here.”

“It’s okay. I’m not leaving for a week.” He turned and took a few steps down the street before stopping and looking back at me. “I think she and I made a connection tonight.”

“I’m sure you did,” I said. “Goodnight, Rudy.”

“Goodnight.”

As Rudy ambled in the direction of The Pit Stop, I stopped by Manny’s trike and asked him to follow Rudy for a while to make sure the guy was really leaving.

A half hour later, Isabel joined Cathy and me in the trike as we drove to my house. By then we were laughing about Rudy, saying things like, “He probably won’t remember anything in the morning,” and “I’m sure he won’t come back.” But our laughter was a little forced, and like I said to Rudy, nothing was guaranteed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The next night we employed our creep-watch procedure. If Rudy tried coming in, one of the door girls would engage him in conversation while another would slip inside and warn Isabel and me. If Rudy asked about Isabel, our greeter would tell him Isabel hadn’t come in and was still sick. I knew that probably wouldn’t stop him from checking, but if he did, Isabel would be safely hidden in the back room, and the rest of the girls would claim to not have seen her.

But Rudy didn’t show up that night, or the two nights that followed. I was beginning to think he had forgotten, and would return to the States without giving us a return visit.

I was both wrong and right.

It was Friday night and all hands were on deck. Our slow season was quickly approaching, but on this night we were full up. The liquor was flying off the bar, and the music was about as loud as I could stand it. As far as the crowd went, there wasn’t an empty chair. Over a dozen guys were standing around, drinking their beer and watching the show. We had over thirty-five girls working that night, not enough to go around, but enough to keep most of the customers happy.

That many people inside meant the temperature was making a fast path to boiling. I had the air conditioning cranked to full, but it wasn’t enough. On this occasion, outside was definitely cooler than in.

The girls started taking turns going out front to spend a few minutes with the door girls and cool off. I was tempted to do the same, but there was just too much crap for me to deal with. Everyone seemed to want to buy me a beer that night, which meant spending time talking and joking before moving on to the next group.

I think the last time I saw Isabel was around eleven thirty p.m. This wasn’t surprising; I hadn’t seen Cathy since about nine. It was just one of those nights when everyone was hustling-the waitresses constantly hauling drinks across the room, the dancers grinding to the full extent of their talents, and those sitting with the guys displaying as much affection and interest as money could buy-all of it in an effort to create that perfect experience for the customers, that aura of possibilities that drew them halfway around the world to the dirty streets of Angeles.

Around one a.m., I suddenly heard Cathy’s voice in my ear. “I need to talk to you.”

I was sitting with a group of businessmen from Hong Kong-displaced Brits, mostly-talking soccer. Not my favorite sport, but if you spent any time in Angeles, you couldn’t help learning more about it than you ever thought you would. I looked over my shoulder, and found Cathy standing there, grim-faced.

“Excuse me, guys. Back in a few.” I got up and followed Cathy into the back where the noise was several decibels lower.

Veta was there, but the moment she saw me, she looked down at the floor.

“What?” I asked, knowing something wasn’t right.

Cathy grabbed Veta by the arm, and said something to her in Tagalog. The harsh tone surprised me.

Veta cried out as Cathy’s fingers dug into her triceps. She mumbled something, then Cathy gave her a shake and told her in English, “Louder!”

“It’s my fault,” Veta said, still not meeting my eyes. I could see tears beginning to run down her cheeks and heard the fear in her voice.

“What’s your fault?” I had no idea what was going on. The worst I could conjure up was that Cathy had caught Veta trying to steal something, money maybe, or something that belonged to one of the girls.

“Isabel,” she said, then began sobbing uncontrollably.

The hair on the back of my neck began standing on end. “What about Isabel?”

“She’s with Rudy,” Veta managed.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

But Veta had slipped out of Cathy’s grasp and curled up on the floor. I looked at Cathy.

“Veta was outside getting some air,” Cathy explained. “Rudy came walking down the other side of the street, and when he see her, she say he call her over.” Cathy looked down at Veta, her face full of disgust. “Rudy tell her he just want to talk to Isabel, that he was sorry there was a misunderstanding. For five hundred pesos, Veta said she bring Isabel to him.”

Rage is an emotion I seldom feel, but it suddenly coursed through me so quickly it was all I could do to keep it from taking over. I reached down and pulled Veta to her feet. Through clenched teeth, I said, “You took her to him?”

“He only want to talk,” Veta said. “That’s what he tell me.”

“So you gave her to him?”

“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I made a mistake.”

“No shit,” I said. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I just told her we were going for a walk. As soon as she saw him, she tried to run away, but he grabbed her. I ran away. I didn’t want him to hurt me, too.”

I looked over at Cathy. “Keep an eye on things,” I said.

I pushed Veta toward the bar. “Show me where you took her,” I said.

Though Fields Avenue was bright and lively and crowded, there were side streets and alleys where darkness took over. These were the places best avoided on those drunken walks back to the hotel. It was to one of these places that Veta led me.

“Here,” she said.

We had come down one of the less used side streets, but could still hear the cacophony of music blaring from a dozen bars only a block away. Veta had stopped beside the darkened entrance of an old building. At one time the place had been a bar called Tony’s Palace, but it had been closed over a year due to the lack of foot traffic.

There were a few scuff marks in the dirt sidewalk but other than that, there was no sign that anything had happened.

“You’re sure it was here?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Sure.”

“Did he say where he was taking her?”

“I tell you, I run,” she said. “I don’t know where he taking her.”

“Do you know what hotel he’s staying at?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Not even that first night when he was buying you all those drinks?”

She thought about it for a moment, then said, “No. He didn’t say.”

I felt a moment of overwhelming helplessness. They could have been anywhere. He could have done anything to her, even killed her, then gotten on a plane and been back in the States before we even found her. I realized in a hurry I needed help.

Dragging Veta behind me, I raced back to The Lounge. I had one of the door girls go inside and get Cathy. The girls who remained stared at the emotional wreck that was Veta, wondering, I was sure, what was going on. But there was no way they were going to ask me. I was kind, gentle Papa Jay, so my reasons must have been good.

Cathy soon joined us, and I gave control of Veta over to her. “Don’t let her leave. I want her here so the police can talk to her.”

Veta started to cry again.

“Stop it,” I told her. “You have to face what you started. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but you don’t have a job here anymore. And when I get finished telling everyone what you’ve done, you won’t be able to get a job anywhere.” To Cathy, I said, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I have to find her.”

She nodded, then hauled Veta back inside. The door girls, still silent, stared at me as I turned and began running down the street.

It took almost two hours to figure out where Rudy was staying. I’d found Manfred and Nicky playing pool at The Eight Ball, so with their help and a couple of understanding Angeles regulars, we canvassed the district trying to discover where Rudy and Isabel might be.

I thought for sure he was staying at the Las Palmas Hotel, so I went there first. But it was a no-go. Ditto at the Royal Suites, the Vista and The Pit Stop. One of the things that worried me was that we’d find his hotel, but they wouldn’t be there. Angeles was a big place. For that matter, Luzon was a big island. Still, he wasn’t a native, so I held on to the belief that he had to take her somewhere familiar.

At three thirty a.m., Manfred called me on my cell phone. “He’s staying at the MacArthur Inn,” he said. “The receptionist said he came in awhile ago with a girl who was so drunk, he basically had to carry her.”

The MacArthur was a five-minute trike ride from where I was. I told Manfred to grab a couple of the hotel security guards and break in. Even as we were talking, I waved over a trike and climbed in.

The driver, spurred on by my offer of two hundred pesos to drive like hell, did just that. We were there in under four minutes. I threw the money at him and raced inside.

The receptionist seemed to be expecting me, and before I could say anything, she was pointing toward her right. “Room 117.”

I followed her directions and continued running at top speed down a long hallway lined on either side by numbered doors. The door to 117 was open, but my momentum almost carried me past it. I was a hell of a lot of mass moving at speeds I hadn’t achieved in years. I caught hold of the jamb and barely kept from falling to the floor.

The lights in the room were on, so I was able to take everything in quickly. Manfred was there, crumpled against the wall, his arms wrapped around his stomach, groaning. Otherwise the room was empty.

I lumbered over to him, and kneeled down. I put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. His eyes remained closed for a moment before becoming slits. “Doc?”

“Jesus. What happened?” I asked.

He opened his eyes the rest of the way, then, with my help, sat up, back against the wall. “Receptionist gave me the key,” he said. “Found them in here. He had her. On the bed.” He grabbed my arm. “I was too late.”

“Where did they go?

“I don’t know. I tried to stop him, but that son of a bitch is strong.” He rubbed the side of his head. There was already a bruise forming there. “I guess he must have knocked me out.”

“What about the security guards?” I asked.

“Couldn’t find any. But I didn’t want to wait.”

“You gonna be okay?” I asked as I got to my feet.

“Yeah, yeah. Just go. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

I went back out into the hallway. If Rudy had taken her the way I’d come, the receptionist would have said something. So I turned the other way and ran. I burst through the door at the end of the hall, and found myself in a large courtyard surrounded on three sides by the different wings of the hotel and dominated by the MacArthur’s swimming pool. There were several empty tables scattered around, and some bushes lining the edge of the building, but I was alone. Across the courtyard there was a ten-foot-high wall, inset with a large wooden gate that I guessed led out to the street. Most of the hotels in Angeles were very concerned about security, so it was a fair bet the gate was usually closed. It wasn’t now.

I didn’t have enough energy to really sprint anymore, so I made my way to the gate as quickly as I could. Cautiously I passed through it and found myself in the dark, unpaved alley that ran behind the hotel. But there was enough light from nearby buildings for me to see I was still alone.

My desperation was reaching its peak. I had failed Isabel. I had promised to watch over her, and I had failed. I looked quickly toward each end of the alley. To my right was a walled-off dead end providing no obvious means of escape. But to my left was a street, paved and better lit. I jogged to it and found what I had both expected and feared.

Even at this late hour, you could always find an available trike. And parked across the street about half a block down were two trikes whose drivers were sitting near each other on the sidewalk in low conversation.

One of them stood up as I approached. “I give you ride,” he said.

“Did two people come by here a few minutes ago? A big guy? Lots of muscles. And a girl?”

“Sure,” the one still sitting on the sidewalk said.

“Did they take a trike?”

“You want a ride, mister?” the first guy asked.

I pulled out two fifty-peso notes and held one out to each of them. “Did they take a trike?”

“Sure,” the second one said.

“Do you know where they were going?”

They both shrugged and shook their heads.

“Damn it!” I looked up and down the street hoping for some clue, but there was nothing. I turned back to the trike drivers. “Which direction did they go?”

They talked amongst themselves for a moment, then the second one said, “Both.”

“He go that way,” the first one said, pointing to their left. “And she go that way.” He pointed to the right.

It took me a second to understand what they’d said.

The sun was coming up when I finally found her. She hadn’t gone back to The Lounge, and she hadn’t gone to her place, either. I guess she decided to go to the only place she thought she could find someone who would understand, and help her without a lot of other people getting involved.

I had to knock three separate times before Mariella finally opened the door.

“Papa Jay, I didn’t know it was you,” she said.

I pushed past her into the apartment. “Where is she?” I asked.

“She’s lying down in my room,” she said, closing the door.

“Is she okay?”

Mariella smiled. “Maybe in a little while. Right now she’s upset.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“I’m her cousin. She tells me everything.”

Exhaustion finally overtook me and I slumped onto Mariella’s couch. Her nice expensive couch, in an apartment filled with nice expensive things. I’d never been inside before, but looking around at the pictures on the wall and the dinette set and the vases of fresh flowers everywhere, I realized just how good she was at the money ko game.

“Can I get you something?” she asked. “Maybe a drink?”

“No. I want to talk to her.”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I just got her to calm down.”

From behind us, Isabel said, “It’s okay.”

We both turned. She was standing at the far end of the living room, next to an open door I presumed led to the bedroom.

“Come in here,” she told me, then disappeared through the open door.

I entered a moment later with Mariella right behind me. Isabel was sitting on a queen-size canopy bed done up in pinks and whites.

“Let me speak to him alone for a few minutes,” Isabel said to her cousin. Her voice was steady, and except for the distant look in her eyes, she seemed normal. Mariella hesitated, so Isabel added, “It’s okay.”

Mariella forced a smile, then went back into the living room.

“Close the door, please,” Isabel said to me.

I did as she asked. Once we were alone, the control she had been exerting over her body cracked, and she could no longer hold back her tears. I sat on the bed next to her, and started to put my arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t,” she said, stopping me. “I know you just want to help, but I…” She trailed off as her face twisted in pain, the memory of what Rudy had done still so very fresh in her mind.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to explain.”

Now that I was there with her, I wasn’t sure what to do. Unconsciously, she pulled her hair back behind her ear in a gesture she’d done a million times. Only this time, instead of revealing her soft, brown cheek, she uncovered a dark, ugly bruise on her jaw, nearly a twin to the one Manfred had received. She realized what I was looking at and started to cover the bruise again, but stopped herself in mid-movement, obviously thinking she couldn’t make me not see it.

“He hit me,” she said.

“Do you need a doctor?”

She touched her jaw. “It will be okay.”

“I don’t mean just for that.”

Her eyes moistened as she tried not to cry. “No,” she said. “No doctor.”

I sat next to her, not touching her, not saying anything. I couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. Anger? Fear? Guilt? All I really knew was that those were the emotions racing through me.

“You know what happened,” she said. A statement, not a question. “You know what I did with him.”

“You didn’t do anything with him,” I told her. “What happened-that was all his doing.”

“It’s the same thing.”

She stared at the carpet, her breathing uneven. I kept expecting her to start sobbing, but it never happened.

I shouldn’t have come, I thought. I should have left as soon as I knew she was with Mariella. There was nothing I could do for her that her cousin couldn’t handle and probably do better.

But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t make myself get up. We sat there like that for what could have been twenty minutes or twenty hours. There was no time under the canopy of Mariella’s bed, there was only Isabel and me.

And I still didn’t know what to do.

I got very little sleep that day. At some point Cathy came and got me from Mariella’s, a minor miracle in itself, but that day, the past meant nothing. The police turned out to be more helpful than I expected. It wasn’t the first time a girl had been raped in Angeles, and I had heard stories of varying degrees of official assistance. Maybe it was because Manfred, a foreigner, had also been hurt.

The cops posted two officers at the MacArthur Inn in hopes that Rudy would return. But what they didn’t know at the time and only figured out later was that he had grabbed all his important stuff, including his passport and airplane ticket, right after he’d smashed his fist into Manfred’s face and hightailed it directly to Aquino International Airport in Manila. By the time the police finally sorted it out, Rudy was already back in the States. Which meant it was the end of it, because none of the Philippine authorities were motivated enough to make an international case over the rape of a bar girl.

As far as I know, Rudy never came back to Angeles. A good thing, too, since there were several girls who would have let him bar fine them, then cut off his balls once they were alone in his hotel room. If I had ever seen him again, I wouldn’t have bothered with his balls. I would have simply killed him.

But the sad truth was, there would come a day when most of the people who knew who he was and what he had done would be gone from Fields, and, if he wanted to, he could probably return then to abuse again.

Isabel stayed away from The Lounge for four days. When she returned, I took her in back and asked her if she was sure she wanted to start working again so soon.

“I’m fine, Papa,” she said. “Please don’t worry about me.”

I knew she wasn’t fine, and I also knew I was sitting on a stack of cash that Larry had sent which would allow her to stop working as long as she wanted. I even suggested she do just that, but she would have none of it.

“Have you told him what happened?” she asked. Her eyes were full of fear. This was apparently something she hadn’t considered before.

“No,” I said. “I haven’t even talked to him.”

“You are telling me the truth?”

I nodded and said yes.

“You must promise me something,” she said.

“What?”

“You must promise me you will never tell Larry about…” She paused. “About him.” It was as if she had spoken the most disgusting word that existed.

“Don’t you think he’d want to know?”

“I don’t want him to know. That should be enough.”

I looked into her eyes and saw that this meant everything to her. “Okay,” I said. “I won’t tell him anything.”

About a week later, Larry called and said that Isabel didn’t sound the same. He wondered if there was something bothering her. I wanted to tell him. He deserved to know. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would have blamed her. In fact, he would have probably hopped on the next plane to come and comfort her.

But I had promised Isabel I would say nothing, so I told him she was probably just missing him.

I wasn’t sure if it was the biggest lie I’d ever told, but it felt like the worst.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

There were things about my time in Angeles that I would have rather not remembered. Rudy was one, but what I remembered wasn’t in my control. I had come back to the Philippines to face all of this, and couldn’t just choose what was important and what should stay forgotten. But Isabel didn’t need to be reminded of him, so I kept that memory to myself.

Instead we talked about the parties and the girls and the insanity, until it became harder and harder to avoid the difficult subjects.

“Do you remember Bibianna?” she asked.

“She was a friend of your cousin’s, wasn’t she?”

She took another bite of her fish, and chewed it thoroughly before answering. “For a while.”

“Remember the time they both came into The Lounge and wanted to bar fine you?” I smiled as I asked the question.

“Sure,” Isabel said, also beginning to smile. “You let me go, without even making them pay.”

“Just wanted you to have a night out.”

“Thanks,” she said, losing herself for a moment in the memory. “We had a good time. Someone tell me that Bibianna marry guy from Italy, move to Rome.”

“Really?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I hear.”

“Did Mariella tell you that?”

She said nothing for several seconds, then, “No. Not Mariella.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay. We have to talk about her sometime.”

“No we don’t,” I said, meaning it.

“Of course we do.”

She paused for only a moment, then started talking about her cousin, and I knew eventually she would talk of Larry, too. Of the end.

After the incident with Rudy, Isabel moved out of her shared room and into the spare bedroom at Mariella’s place. At the time she said it was her idea, but what really happened was Mariella insisted. This was the same Mariella who was proud that she didn’t need to have roommates, and that she could afford to live in a beautiful place. By American standards, it would have been called a townhouse, everything in twos: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, two stories. Bought and paid for by her British boyfriend, as he had promised her on his last visit to the Angeles City.

Isabel’s room was upstairs, so Mariella was able to easily keep tabs on her. At first Isabel didn’t realize what was happening. Whenever she came downstairs, Mariella would always put on her beauty-queen smile and ask, “Going out?” or say something like, “You’re running late tonight,” or even, “You look nice, you expecting someone special?”

Mariella’s schedule had her working only when she wanted. It began to look like anytime Isabel was home, so was Mariella. It was nice at first to have a friend to come home to, someone Isabel looked up to and with whom she could share all her thoughts. Someone who knew about Rudy.

But in those early weeks and months, it was Larry they talked about. Isabel told her cousin all about him. She told her about the trips out of Angeles, sparing no details, intimate or otherwise. When he called, and he called her almost every day by then, she’d tell Mariella everything he said.

Isabel was in love, and in many ways Mariella became Isabel’s surrogate for Larry. Not in any physical way, but when Isabel felt the urge to tell Larry she loved him, she would tell Mariella, “I love him so much.” And when she felt the urge to hold him, she’d say, “I wish he was here right now.” And at those times she thought about how long it would be until his next visit, she’d say, “I miss him,” and cry into Mariella’s shoulder.

The whole time Mariella offered hugs that were just a moment too short, or knowing smiles that were just a bit too knowing, or words of encouragement which, without Isabel even realizing it, weren’t really encouraging at all.

Mariella was patient, I have to give her that. Every day Isabel fell more and more under Mariella’s influence. She began to crave Mariella’s approval, asking for her cousin’s opinion before she made any important decisions. And all the while Mariella lay in wait, not yet ready to exert the control she knew she had. Even when Isabel told her about the money Larry sent, and how she had not touched any of it, Mariella said, “That’s good, that’s good. Pretty soon you’ll be a rich woman.”

I can only imagine what was really going through her mind.

At the same time, the great Angeles cycle had turned on me, too. For so long things had been good; life had been rolling along. Even my bouts of Angeles overload had been more manageable.

But the incident with Rudy seemed to signal a change not only for Isabel and Mariella, but for me, too. And Cathy. And Manfred. And Robbie Bainbridge, though we didn’t know it at the time. It was a demarcation point when the cycle turned the corner and began moving in the opposite direction.

As our relationship progressed, Cathy and I fell into a pattern. A comfortable pattern, at least for me, because it had been a long time since I’d felt so content. Manny would give us a ride home in his trike every night after work. Sometimes we would make love before we went to sleep, sometimes after we woke the next afternoon. Sometimes both, and often it was neither. We’d lounge around the house for several hours, watching the satellite TV or going for a swim, then we’d head for Fields, stopping for dinner first, more times than not at The Pit Stop, before arriving at The Lounge just before six p.m. On our days off, we’d just stay home and do nothing. We were both just too wiped out.

I’m not quite sure exactly when Cathy started acting differently, only that it wasn’t long after the encounter with Rudy. She began to get annoyed over stupid things, and she would become quieter than usual, over long periods of time, days even. And while we’d always argued, there had once been a playfulness to our banter. There was no playfulness now. She almost sounded bitter on occasion, and sometimes resentful.

It had a familiar feel to me. I feared things were falling apart like they had with Maureen, and with every relationship I’d ever been in. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. I wanted to fix whatever it was and return to that state of contentment. I wanted us to be us again, not caring about anything and just enjoying the ride.

But while I was good at helping others, I sucked at helping myself. I was afraid if I said anything, she would tell me there was no way to make things right. I was afraid that by trying to fix our relationship, I might inadvertently end it. So I said nothing and hoped for the best, because, more than anything, I was afraid that if she asked me, “Do you love me? Really love me?” I would have to tell her the truth.

It was Manfred, though, who had the most immediate, profound change. It was a Sunday, and I’d invited him out to my place for an early barbecue. Cathy had decided she had something she needed to do that afternoon, so it was just the two of us, a pair of sirloin steaks and enough ice-cold San Miguels to keep us happy. We were out by the pool, each of us having taken a preliminary dip, but planning on more. I put the food on a couple of plastic plates and we sat around stuffing the tender meat into our mouths and washing it down with the beer.

“I think it’s time,” Manfred said when he was halfway done with his steak.

“For what?” I asked, thinking he meant another swim and knowing I wasn’t even close to ready for that yet.

He set his fork down, and took a long pull from his bottle before answering. “I told you my mother isn’t doing too well, right?”

“I think you mentioned it,” I said. “Did something happen?”

“No. She’s the same. But I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking I should spend some time with her,” he said.

“You gonna go back for a visit, then?” I asked.

He was silent for several moments, so I looked up from my steak. He had a wistful smile on his face. “No,” he said. “Not a visit. I’m going back to stay.”

I set my own fork down. “You mean, move home?”

He nodded. “It’s time.”

“Was it that thing with Rudy?” The incident was over two months in our past, but not yet a distant memory.

“Partly,” he said. “But it’s everything, really. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this. All this isn’t real. I guess I was going to have to face it at some point.”

I stared at him. It wasn’t that I thought he should stay, it was just I hadn’t expected any of my friends to leave. I don’t mean I was selfish or anything, only that it hadn’t dawned on me that it might happen.

“You know what this place is,” he said. “I think you, more than anyone, keep a pretty good grip on reality. But I don’t have your strength.” He paused for a moment, breathing in deeply. “If I don’t leave now, this place will kill me.”

As soon as he spoke the words, I knew he was telling the truth. If he didn’t leave, he’d be a destroyed man, maybe not dead, but near enough that it wouldn’t matter. He would become a drunk and a serial womanizer. And more than anything, he’d get to the point where he could never break his addiction to the scene.

“You’re right,” I said. “I think you should leave.”

I think he was expecting more of a fight. But I couldn’t argue with the truth.

Two weeks later I threw Manfred a going-away party at The Lounge. All the regulars were there: Dieter, Nicky, Tommy, Dandy Doug, Josh. Even Tom Hill and Carter stopped by for a drink. Most of the girls knew Manfred, and those who didn’t knew he was a good friend of mine, so everyone was in a party mood.

It wasn’t planned, but at some point someone found the fluorescent body paints in the back office and brought them out. Immediately the guys began picking models, and the girls began pulling off their tops, because you couldn’t have a cloth-covered canvas. I saw Cathy flip on the switch to the four tubular black lights that hung strategically from the ceiling. We hadn’t turned them on in a long time, so for a second I wasn’t even sure they would work. But they all came on and soon the girls were glowing in their new fluorescent finery.

One guy painted an Australian flag draped over Rina’s shoulders and flowing down to her waist. Another guy-Nicky, I think-worked only in red and white and created two side-by-side targets with Tessa’s nipples as the bull’s-eyes. Some of the girls turned out great, while others looked like bad imitations of modern art.

Rochelle was the best. She’d been lucky enough to have been picked by Dieter. He was probably the best artist we had in the district. He turned her into a provocatively dressed cop, complete with a side-holstered pistol and handcuffs.

Even Isabel, who’d been moody at best lately, seemed to be having a good time. She was laughing and passing out drinks and talking to everyone. She even got up on stage during “Love Shack” and showed everyone she still knew the moves.

We’d been taking turns all night toasting Manfred. When my turn finally came, the room settled down to allow me to get in a few words.

I raised my glass. “I was going to say something profound like, ‘Tonight we say goodbye to a friend with the hope that one day our paths will cross again. We each have our own roads to travel, and Manfred, we’re glad your road ran alongside ours for a while.’ But none of you would believe that bullshit anyway.” Everyone laughed. “So I’ve decided to limit myself to one word that I think sums him up.” I looked at Manfred, a wide grin on my face as I raised my glass even higher. “Asshole.”

More laughter as they all raised glasses, then, almost as one, said “Asshole!”

And before I knew it, the music was blaring again and people were laughing and girls were dancing and everyone seemed-for that moment, anyway-happy to be where they were. Even Manfred, who in less than forty-eight hours would be boarding a plane to Europe, probably never to return.

Isabel told me the thing she remembered most about that night was that Mariella said she was going to show up, but never did. Isabel had been disappointed, but not enough to let it ruin her evening. Mariella, after all, seldom lived up to the promises she made to her cousin. If Isabel had known that Mariella and Manfred had had a brief affair that had not ended well, she probably would have had a horrible evening, wondering if her cousin would really show up. But Isabel never knew, and later, I didn’t feel it was necessary to tell her.

We didn’t get the bar closed until almost sunup that night. In the end, it was just Cathy and Manfred and me standing on the sidewalk facing each other. I gave him a big bear hug and told him he was always welcome back. Cathy kissed him tenderly on the cheek and said she would miss him.

After he climbed into the trike that was waiting for him at the curb, he leaned out, waved and said one last goodbye. I knew it was the last time I would hear from him, because of what he said when we were sitting around the pool-that Angeles wasn’t the real world. And now that he was leaving and returning to that real world, he had to forget us to get us out of his system.

Cold turkey. No step down. No hair of the dog.

The city was beginning to come alive as Manny drove Cathy and me home that morning. The sky had started to turn blue, the black night fleeing to the west. I wasn’t as drunk as I could have been, and to say I was just tired and sad at the loss of my friend would have been only a partial truth. Manfred’s departure had stirred up questions I didn’t want to deal with, questions that had been buried deep in my mind but were suddenly inching closer and closer to the surface.

I was fighting hard to suppress them again when Cathy said, “What road are you taking?”

At first I thought she was talking to Manny, so I glanced up, but we seemed to be traveling on our normal route. When I realized she’d been talking to me, I said, “What do you mean?”

“When you made the toast for Manfred,” she said. “You said we all have our own roads to travel. I want to know what road you are on.”

“I’m not sure what kind of answer you’re looking for.”

She looked out at the buildings that lined the side of the street, then said, “How long will our roads run together?”

“Cathy-”

“Will you suddenly go off in your own direction someday, like Manfred?” she asked, cutting me off.

“No. That’s not part of my plan,” I said, realizing a split-second later it was the wrong thing to say.

She turned to look at me. “Then what is your plan?”

“To go home and go to sleep.” I smiled as broadly as I could, but her expression didn’t change. So I became serious again and said, “To work hard. To enjoy life. To love you.”

“In that order?”

I sighed, but said nothing. Silence wasn’t always the best answer, but sometimes it was the best I could come up with.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Isabel and Larry had their first fight less than three weeks later. She remembered the date exactly-September 4th. It came during an unusually long gap between visits, but Larry was finally due the following week. Whenever I saw her, all Isabel could do was talk about how excited she was.

On the surface, the trouble began when he told her he would have to delay his trip for another week. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. What’s a week? In Angeles, a week could go by without you even noticing. And though she was disappointed, Isabel didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Until after she told Mariella.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. What happened?” Mariella said, acting the part of the concerned older sister.

“Nothing happened,” Isabel said. “He just couldn’t get away from work yet.”

“I see.” Mariella smiled, and sat next to her cousin on the couch, putting her arm over Isabel’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything is okay.”

“I know everything’s okay. I was just looking forward to seeing him next weekend.”

“Of course you were. Of course you were,” Mariella said. “He should have thought of that.”

“It’s not his fault,” Isabel said.

“Shhh. Of course it is. He knows you have been waiting for him. Why couldn’t he have planned his business better?”

A few tears appeared in Isabel’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, then leaned into her cousin, no longer able to hide the full extent of her disappointment.

“Did you ask him?”

Isabel could only manage to shake her head.

“It’s okay,” Mariella said. “Don’t worry. Like you said, maybe it wasn’t his fault.” She ran her hand over Isabel’s hair, smoothing it down. “Still, he’s not being very fair to you.”

An hour later, after Isabel spent most of the time crying in her cousin’s arms and listening to Mariella’s “supportive” words, Larry called again to give Isabel his updated flight information.

“Did you write it down?” he asked once he was done.

“Of course I wrote it down.” Her voice was flat and unfriendly.

“Great. I can’t wait to see you,” he said.

“Okay.”

There was a pause. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Wait,” he said. “What’s going on?” He paused, then added, “Are you mad at me?”

She said nothing.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“The only thing I can think of is that you’re mad I had to change my trip. But I explained that to you.”

She was silent again.

“Is that it?”

No response.

“Isabel, the last thing I wanted to do was wait any longer. But it can’t be helped.”

“Why couldn’t you have planned your business schedule better?” she blurted out.

“What?”

“Why couldn’t you have planned better? You’re the boss, you can do whatever you want,” she said.

“Look,” he said, his voice serious. “I’ve got a chance to expand my business big time. But if I miss these meetings next week, that chance goes away.”

“It’s not fair,” Isabel said.

“No,” he said. “It’s not fair. And I am really sorry about that. But it is what it is, and I’m still coming to see you.”

“Do you have a new girlfriend there?” she asked, her chin beginning to tremble. It was a question Mariella had asked her. The idea of it had seemed ridiculous when her cousin had proposed it, and it seemed even stupider now that she had thrown it out there. But it had just flown out of her mouth.

“Absolutely not,” Larry said. “Isabel, I love you. I’m not looking for anyone else, I’m not thinking of anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. Understand?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“What’s really wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

She took a deep breath, steadying her emotions. “I just want you to be here.”

“That’s what I want, too.” Isabel could almost hear a smile in his voice, and it was enough to break what was left of the tension she had been feeling. “I’ve got to go. I love you and I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

For a moment she thought he’d already hung up, but then Larry told her in a voice that said he cared about her, forgave her and loved her, “I know.”

Over the two weeks before Larry’s arrival, Mariella continued to act happy for Isabel one minute, then sow the seeds of doubt the next.

“He has a big house there in California?” she asked.

“Four bedrooms,” Isabel told her.

“And he really lives there all alone? That’s hard to believe.”

At another time:

“He’s divorced, right?” Mariella asked.

“No, he’s never been married.”

“Why not?”

“He says he hasn’t found the right girl yet.”

“That’s good. Of course, he could be lying,” Mariella said, giving Isabel a wide grin to show she was joking.

One time when they were at the mall in San Fernando, shopping for a welcome-back present for Larry, the conversation went like this:

“What do you think of this shirt?” Isabel asked, holding up a light blue, button-up shirt.

Mariella wrinkled her nose. “Whatever you think he’ll like.”

Isabel put the shirt back, suddenly questioning her own taste.

They continued looking for a while, finding nothing that seemed right. When they’d taken a moment to get something to drink, Mariella said, “You know that everything I say to you is because I care about you and want to make sure you don’t get hurt, di ba?”

“Sure,” Isabel said.

“Good. That’s good.” Mariella took a sip of her water. “So your Larry, you’re sure he’s not married, right?”

“What?” Isabel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I know you told me he’d never been divorced,” Mariella said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you actually asked him if he was married.”

“Of course I asked him,” Isabel said. “He’s not married. He’s never been married.”

Mariella laughed. “It’s okay. I didn’t think he was. I just wanted to make sure, di ba? Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

And finally on the day before Larry arrived:

“If he’s not married, and he has no girlfriend, and he flies over here all the time to see you, why doesn’t he marry you and take you to California?” Mariella asked.

But this was one question Isabel had already been asking herself. And so far she’d only come up with one answer. “I don’t know,” she said.

I don’t remember much of anything from that time Larry came. I think I only saw him twice, his first night and his last. I’m pretty sure he brought me my usual gift of Marzen, and I do remember commenting to him on that last night that I was disappointed we didn’t get a chance to hang out more. But the ten days he was here turned out to be pretty eventful for me. And, as Isabel told me later, it was pretty eventful for them, too.

On all of his previous trips to the Philippines, Larry had spent very little time in Mariella’s company. He and Isabel might meet her for a drink one night, or, on a couple of occasions, share a meal. But that was about it. This time, though, was different. Mariella seemed to be with them wherever they went.

At first Larry didn’t seem to even notice. He told Isabel he was just happy to be with her. He told her over and over again how much he’d missed her. She liked the way he was always looking at her, as if she was the only person around. And so, because of this, when Mariella asked to go with them the first couple of nights, both Isabel and Larry said okay.

Apparently, Mariella was with them that first night they came to The Lounge. I never saw her, and Cathy, who would have said something to me, wasn’t there that night. In fact, as I was acutely aware, she hadn’t been there for several nights, so I guess that’s probably why Mariella showing up at The Lounge didn’t even register with me.

By Larry’s third night in town, Mariella stopped asking and just automatically tagged along. At first, even that didn’t seem to bother him, but by the fourth or fifth night, he’d apparently had enough.

“Can’t we have a night with just you and me?” he asked Isabel one night when they had a few moments alone together.

Mariella’s presence had actually been bothering Isabel longer than it had been bothering Larry, yet she was willing to put up with it if she was the only one who noticed. Now that Larry had said something, she told him, “I’ll talk to her.”

The next day while Larry was in the shower, Isabel called Mariella on her cell from Larry’s hotel room. Mariella told Isabel a story she heard about a girl who worked at Torpedoes who’d gotten into a fight with the mamasan, then moved directly into what she’d heard about another girl they both knew who’d moved to Australia with her new husband. Isabel listened patiently, not really sure how she was going to bring up the subject of that evening. Looking back later, Isabel realized that Mariella probably knew exactly why her cousin had called and was doing everything she could to keep Isabel off track. It worked for a while, but then Isabel was finally able to grab onto an opening.

“I think tonight Larry wants to take me out to a special dinner,” Isabel said, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. “Just him and me.”

“Oh,” Mariella said.

“It’s not that we don’t enjoy having you along…” Isabel said.

“No. I understand.” All the fun had left Mariella’s voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way. You have fun. I’ll leave you alone.”

“It’s not like that,” Isabel said. “You weren’t in the way. It’s just…”

“Please. I understand. Okay, I have to go now.”

“I’ll call you later, okay?” Isabel asked.

“I think I’m going to be busy. Maybe tomorrow. Bye.”

Mariella hung up before Isabel could say another word.

Mariella couldn’t have spun a more effective web of guilt around Isabel if she tried twice as hard. Now, instead of being happy to be with Larry and enjoying their time together, the whole day and into the night, Isabel worried about what Mariella thought about her.

Knowing Larry, I’m sure he probably noticed something was wrong not long after they went out, but Isabel said he didn’t say anything until that evening. They were at dinner, the seafood barbecue poolside at the Las Palmas Hotel.

Unusually for them, their conversation lagged. Larry tried numerous times to get it going, but Isabel was unresponsive. Her mind was a million miles away that night, she told me. She was sure Mariella was upset with her. She feared the next time she saw her cousin, Mariella would ignore her, shunning her the way Isabel had seen Mariella shun others in the past. She had no idea how much she had fallen under Mariella’s influence, and how much she'd come to need Mariella’s approval in everything she did.

At one point, when the conversation had fallen into one of those long silences, Isabel looked up and found Larry staring at her.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“It’s just that you’ve been staring at your food for the last five minutes but not eating anything.”

“I guess I’m not that hungry.”

“It’s more than that,” he said. “You’ve barely said a word to me since we got here.”

She tried to smile. “A headache, that’s all.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Larry pushed his chair back. “I’ll get you some aspirin,” he said as he stood.

He looked so eager to help that she said, “Okay.” She didn’t think the aspirin would work, but hoped that getting it would distract Larry long enough to give her time to shake herself out of her funk.

It didn’t.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The dreaded encounter with Mariella came the next night. After dinner the night before, Larry had suggested they call it an early evening. And though Isabel’s sleep was not completely sound, she did wake up in the morning feeling better. By the time they went out that night, she was even in a good mood again.

Isabel told me they had planned on coming by The Lounge that evening, but for some reason ended up at Slo Joe’s, one of the biggest bars on Fields. On any given night, their lineup had more than seventy dancers. Counting waitresses and bartenders, there were nights when over a hundred girls would be working.

I hated the place. There was no reason for it to be as big as it was. The old adage “quantity doesn’t always equal quality” described the place to a tee. They didn’t really care who they took on, and all the girls knew if you lost your job and couldn’t get one anywhere else, you could always get one at Slo Joe’s. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Veta had ended up working there.

Slo Joe’s was a hive of drug addicts and bad attitudes. The girls would literally push each other out of the way to get to a potential customer. Some guys liked that kind of experience, and there were apparently more than enough of them to keep the place in business. To me it represented the worst of Angeles.

Isabel said they got there around ten p.m., and even though she walked in with Larry’s arm around her waist, the girls ignored her and pounced on him, pulling him toward empty tables in different directions. By the time order was restored, Isabel and Larry were seated in one of the cushy, velvet-covered booths along the wall. Two or three of the more persistent girls stayed with them, hoping to scam a few lady drinks or maybe, if the money was good and they were desperate enough, a bar fine and a threesome. But Larry was having none of that and soon made it clear he wasn’t going to buy any of them anything. One by one they drifted off in search of other prey.

“I don’t know why we stayed,” Isabel said as we sat on the beach watching evening descend over Boracay.

“Was it Larry’s idea?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think he was comfortable, either, but it was like neither one of us wanted to say, ‘Come on, let’s go someplace else.’ After the emptiness of the night before, I think we both thought we needed a party.”

“And the best thing you can say about Slo Joe’s is there’s always a party,” I said, finishing her thought.

She nodded. It was clear from the look in her eyes that the memory was a painful one. “The music was so loud,” she said. “Louder than we ever had it at The Lounge on our busiest nights. The only time we could really talk was between songs. The girls kept trying to get Larry’s attention, but each time he would pull me a little closer or kiss me or run his fingers through my hair, so I didn’t mind.”

Then, without warning-but what warning could there have been? — Mariella was suddenly standing in front of them. And though she was wearing her all-purpose ear-to-ear smile, there was something in her eyes that belied any sense of well-being. She wasn’t alone, either. Bibiana and Elana, another girl Isabel had seen once or twice at Mariella’s place, were with her.

“Isabel. Larry. How are you?” Mariella sounded surprised, but Isabel got the sense she wasn’t.

Mariella leaned down and gave them each a hug and a kiss. “Have you been here long?” she asked.

“A little while,” Larry said.

Mariella leaned in toward Isabel and said in a hushed voice that was still loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t worry. I’m only saying hello.”

Isabel tensed.

“How do you like this place?” Mariella said to Larry. “I think it’s great. So many pretty girls. But, of course, you already have the prettiest one, di ba?” As she laughed, her smile never changed. It was as if it had been surgically sewn into position.

“Do you want to join us?” Larry asked.

“No, I couldn’t,” Mariella said. She glanced at her two companions. “We only came in for a drink and to see if there was anyone here we knew.”

“You know us,” Larry said.

Mariella laughed loudly. Larry’s response obviously wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe for just one drink.”

She sat down on the other side of Larry while Bibianna and Elena, both looking bored and annoyed, sat next to Isabel. Almost on cue, the waitress showed up to take drink orders.

“White wine,” Mariella said.

Bibianna and Elena had the same, but before the waitress could walk too far away, Mariella called her back. “I have an idea.” She leaned across Larry so she could squeeze Isabel’s hand, her right breast rubbing up against Larry’s chest. “Why don’t we celebrate? Every night your Larry’s in town should be a celebration.”

“Sounds good to me,” Larry said.

Mariella laughed and leaned into him for a moment. “You’re a funny guy.” She turned toward the waitress. “Tequila shots. Five of them.”

If it hadn’t been a party before, it was then. Even Bibianna and Elena loosened up after a second round of shots. “Maybe for just one drink” became tray after tray of wine and beer and shooters. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even Larry didn’t seem to mind Mariella’s presence.

But for Isabel, the good feeling that had returned to her during the day was slipping away again. It was Mariella, of course, but it wasn’t so much that she was paying too much attention to Larry, it was the attention she was paying Isabel. For the most part, it was none, but a few times when everyone was looking elsewhere, Isabel caught Mariella glancing her way with eyes hard and piercing and no smile on her face.

Sometime after midnight, Larry began talking about going home, but Mariella would have none of it.

“It’s still early,” she said. “We should go dancing.”

Larry protested some, but finally said, “If Isabel wants to go, I guess it’s okay.”

Of course Isabel didn’t want to go, but even without the quick, reproachful look she got from Mariella, she knew she couldn’t say that. “Yes,” she said. “It sounds like fun.”

When the waitress came with the final bill, Larry said, “I’ll get it.” Isabel knew he needn’t have said it. No one else would have made a move to pay even a part of the bill.

As they left Slo Joe’s they met three more of Mariella’s friends. Isabel had never met any of them before, but they looked like all of Mariella’s friends-too made up, too dressed up and with an air that they were above everyone else. When Mariella said they were going dancing, Isabel got the sense the new girls already knew it. She realized Mariella must have text messaged them from inside Slo Joe’s. So their party of five grew to a party of eight, with Larry being the presumed master when in fact he was just a patsy in a grander scheme.

There is only one place in the district for dancing-the Rumba Room, just a block off Fields on a parallel street. It wasn’t a go-go bar and there were no girls to bar fine, but that didn’t mean there weren’t girls to hook up with. Freelancers and off-duty dancers enjoying a night out were often perfectly willing to go with the right guy for the right price.

Inside, there were three stories-tiers, really-surrounding a large, open central space. The dance floor was in the middle of the ground floor, so that’s where most of the people were. The higher you went, the more likely you would find a space for more intimate action. Theatrical lights illuminated the dance floor, and on some nights, special dance groups would come in to perform. Male dancers mostly, and in an odd twist, it would be the girls of Fields lining the stage, urging the guys along.

That night there was no show, only a house full of girls and guys in various stages of inebriation, some dancing, some lounging, some scamming, and a few passed out where they sat. The music was the same contemporary dance remix crap they played in most of the bars, and it was almost as loud as it was at Slo Joe’s. The difference was that the Rumba Room was big enough to absorb some of the noise and allow partial conversation.

All the tables were already full, so they found a space against the wall to squeeze into for the time being. After ordering a bottle of champagne from a waitress, Mariella, Bibianna and one of the new girls headed for the dance floor. Mariella tried to drag Larry with them, but he resisted, saying, “Maybe later.”

Every time Isabel wanted to lean over and whisper to Larry, “Take me home,” she’d catch sight of Mariella looking at her from the dance floor. It was as if her cousin knew her every move.

“Do you want to dance?” Larry asked her.

She didn’t, but she said okay anyway. Anything to make Larry happy.

Once they were on the floor, she closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. For a little while it was all gone: Mariella, the bars, the guys, Angeles, even Larry. There was nothing but darkness and the music in her head. She could feel the bodies around her as they brushed against her, but they registered only as unknowable sensations, guiding her, caressing her, keeping her safe.

When a hand slipped into hers, she knew it was Larry, so she opened her eyes and reentered the world. He leaned into her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said.

They danced continuously for three songs. At the end of the third song, she leaned against him and felt sweat on his shirt.

“Rest?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded.

Putting his arm around her, he led her off the dance floor and back to their spot along the wall. No one else was there, and for a moment Isabel hoped the others had left. But then someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to find Elena standing behind her.

“We found a table,” Elena told them. “This way.”

They followed her up the stairs to a table on the second level where Mariella and her other friends were seated. They had already worked their way through a bottle of champagne, and a waitress was setting a second bottle on the table. When Mariella saw Isabel and Larry, she jumped up.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice playful yet scolding.

“I wanted to dance,” Larry said.

“Isabel is so lucky to have a man who likes to dance,” Mariella told him. “Here. Sit down. We’ve poured you some champagne.”

She maneuvered it so that she was sitting next to Larry again. They toasted and drank, and toasted and drank again. Isabel, though, only had a sip. She could feel that she was on the verge of losing control. She was pretty sure Larry was, too, at that point, but he didn’t drink for a living and hadn’t learned the tricks.

There was laughter and singing and drinking, and at some point Mariella put her hand on Larry’s thigh. It stayed there for several seconds before Larry looked down. He seemed confused for a moment, as if expecting to see Isabel’s hand, not her cousin’s. He then pushed it off, and turned to Mariella, opening his mouth to say something.

“I think I want to go back to the hotel,” Isabel whispered quickly in his ear. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she didn’t want to stay any longer. “I’m not feeling very well.”

Larry turned back to her. “Another headache?” he asked, worried.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money for the drinks, handing it to Mariella. “This should cover everything.”

“You can’t go,” Mariella said.

“Isabel isn’t feeling well.”

“What’s wrong, Isabel?” Mariella’s voice dripped with insincere concern.

Isabel knew if she looked at her cousin she would get another one of Mariella’s withering looks, so she kept her eyes downcast. “I have a bad headache.”

“Oh, baby,” Mariella said. “Come here and I’ll give you a massage and maybe that will help.”

“Thank you, but I think I just need to rest,” Isabel said, still avoiding looking at her cousin.

As Larry and Isabel stood up to leave, Mariella also stood.

“I hope you feel better,” Mariella said, then hugged Isabel.

Caught off guard, Isabel glanced up and saw in Mariella’s eyes anger and disappointment. Isabel’s stomach churned as she accepted her cousin’s hug and kiss on the cheek.

When Mariella turned to Larry, she said, “Thank you for letting us join you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Maybe after Isabel’s asleep, you can come back out and join us?” she suggested.

Isabel tensed, but Larry said, “Thanks, but I’m pretty tired myself.”

“I understand,” she said, as she reached out and gave him a hug.

She started to kiss him on his cheek, but instead her lips brushed past and landed on his. Before he could even react, she pulled away.

“Good night,” she said. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Larry mumbled.

Isabel, not trusting her own voice, said nothing until the next morning.

The sun was fully down by the time she’d told me all of this. And the breeze had cooled the air enough so that it became another pleasant Boracay evening.

“What did you say to him?” I asked her.

“What could I say?” She looked at me. “It wasn’t his fault. He loved me. I knew that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“But Mariella was hurting you,” I countered.

Isabel sighed. “It’s not that easy. I thought she was trying to teach me a lesson. I would have done anything for her then. She was everything I could never be, di ba? She’d given me everything I had. She got me my job at The Lounge. She let me live with her for free. She was family, only one in Angeles. My mother tell me before I leave home to listen to Mariella, that she know everything. ‘Mariella your cousin,’ she say. ‘Family always most important.’ If it wasn’t for Mariella, I would have never met Larry.”

“You’d both have been better off if you hadn’t met,” I said.

“Back then I didn’t think that,” she said.

“And now?”

She was quiet for a long time.

They stopped in at The Lounge one more time before Larry returned to the States. I was pretty busy, but we were able to spend a little time together.

As far as Mariella went, they were able to avoid her the rest of the trip. Isabel knew that was only temporary, and the evening after she once again put Larry on a plane for California, she returned home knowing her cousin would be there waiting for her.

When she walked in, the living room was empty, but the lights were on so she knew Mariella was around somewhere. She thought maybe if she hurried to her room, she could avoid a confrontation. But as she started up the stairs, Mariella came out of the master bedroom.

“Is he gone already?” Mariella asked as soon as she saw Isabel.

Isabel stopped only three steps up. “He left this afternoon.”

“So soon. This was a short trip, wasn’t it?”

Isabel shrugged.

“And after postponing it for a week,” Mariella said. “Was there something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong,” Isabel said. Nothing except this was probably the worst time she and Larry had spent together. It wasn’t his fault, though. She knew it had been all her own.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Mariella said in a tone that implied she didn’t quite believe that.

“He is,” Isabel said.

Mariella frowned for a moment. “I think maybe you can do better.”

“What do you mean?” Isabel asked. “Larry’s a good person. He’s better than any of the other guys out there. Why would you say that?”

“Okay. If you don’t want to hear what I have to say, that’s your choice.” Mariella started to walk toward the kitchen.

Isabel was tempted to scream, “You’re right! I don’t want to hear what you have to say!” Instead she said, “Why do you think I could do better?”

“It’s okay. It’s none of my business.”

And no matter how much Isabel asked, Mariella refused to talk about it anymore. So instead of going to bed thinking about how much she missed Larry and couldn’t wait until he came back, she went to bed trying to figure out what Mariella meant, thinking she’d disappointed her cousin again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Three days before Larry had arrived in town on that less-than-successful trip, Cathy left me a note that said she was going to be gone for several days, and I shouldn’t worry about her.

She hadn’t prepared me for this at all. There had been no warning, no hints that she needed to get away. Nothing. I’d gone out to run a few errands, and when I came back, the house was empty. Only her note remained.

It didn’t say where she had gone or who she might be with, just “don’t worry about me,” which I promptly ignored. I must have read it a hundred times before I finally put it down, hoping each time I might find something new, something I might have missed. But what I was looking for wasn’t there. The only thing I could perceive as remotely positive was that her note implied she would be back, so apparently she hadn’t moved out.

I guess if she had moved out it would have been less of a surprise to me. Things had continued to deteriorate between us, and I had done my best to ignore the situation altogether. I knew what she wanted, but it was the only thing I couldn’t give her. She wanted to know her future was secure. She wanted me to marry her.

She never really came out and said it, but I could tell in the way she talked about the girls who’d married their honey kos and left Angeles. I could tell in the way she sometimes stared off into nothing, her eyes blank but moist. I could tell in the way she talked about the future, hopeful one moment, pessimistic the next. She wanted to know what was around the corner, what her life would be like in a year, five, ten. From where I stood, I couldn’t even see next month.

But if she did come back, it meant I still had a chance to make things right. Maybe I didn’t love her as much as I needed to, but I loved her more than I had ever loved anyone else.

So I began making plans for her return. I’d take some time off, take her back to Boracay, or maybe splurge and take her to Hong Kong. If I really needed to, I’d pop the question. It seemed like a lot of things were changing around me, and I needed one thing to remain stable. I needed Cathy to be there.

“Several days” stretched into a week. Larry was still in town, but I barely gave him a second thought. I was too busy trying to juggle my work schedule so I could get away when Cathy returned, making travel plans, and, more than anything else, worrying about her, about us, about me.

Every day I tried Cathy’s cell phone, but my calls would immediately go to her voicemail. After the fourth day, I just hung up and said nothing. I text messaged her, too, but neither method brought any results.

I slept less, ate less, drank less. About the only thing I did more of was work. I’d get to The Lounge in the middle of the afternoon when either Tommy or Dandy Doug was working, and stay until I shut the place down at four in the morning.

On Cathy’s tenth day away, Robbie Bainbridge came back to town. It had been over half a year since his last visit. He’d told me over the phone that he’d been sick, but until he walked through the door that day, I hadn’t known how bad it was.

He’d lost a lot of weight, and looked older somehow. I even noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

“It’s the medicine,” he told me later. “They tell me not to drink anything with it, but fuck ’em. A drink now and then’s not going to kill me.”

It was cancer that had gotten into him. He never told me what kind it was, but he implied if he’d been smart enough to get it checked early on, it could have been taken care of, no problem.

“They’d managed to get most of it out,” he told me as we sat at the bar sharing a couple of beers. “And, with any luck, in a couple months I’ll be free of the bastard.”

“Cheers to that,” I said raising my San Miguel.

“Cheers, mate,” he said.

He drank almost half his bottle in one swig. I barely sipped mine, knowing it would be the only drink I’d have all night.

It looked like he was about to say something else when we were suddenly surrounded by the girls who’d just come on shift. Like the others who’d been there when Robbie arrived, the new group hugged and kissed him and told him how great he looked and asked why he’d been away for so long.

Before long, they’d talked him into giving them all a drink on the house. Tessa even ran over and gave the bell a ring.

I put a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and said, “Just because you’re buying a round doesn’t mean I’m going to put your name on the wall.”

He laughed. “No worries.”

It was almost like the first time I’d walked into The Lounge-Robbie holding court in a room full of laughing, semi-drunk women. Everyone happy and dancing and having a good time. Only the smile on Robbie’s face wasn’t as steady as it once had been, and not everyone, especially me, was happy.

After the girls had moved on and we were alone again, Robbie said, “This thing’s been making me do a lot of thinking.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

He waved his arm around, taking in the whole room. “I can’t pay attention to this place. At least not like I used to.”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I knew what he meant. “You going to sell The Lounge?”

“Thinking about it.” He looked at me and must have seen the fear in my eyes. “I’ve gotta do something. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

I smiled and said thanks, but it wasn’t taking care of I needed. If he sold the place, that meant change. And change meant chaos.

It was less chaos I needed, not more.

My cozy little world seemed on the verge of spinning out of control.

What seemed like a disaster in the making one day, looked like an opportunity the next. Just before I’d fallen asleep, an idea had come to me, something that would not only help Robbie with his problem but would help me with mine. I was so anxious to talk to him about it the next evening that I woke up nearly every hour until it was time to get out of bed.

I was at The Lounge before three that afternoon, but there was no sign of Robbie. Not surprising, since he’d stayed pretty late the night before. I busied myself making sure everything was ready for another kick-ass evening, and spent a little time shooting the breeze with Dandy Doug.

But when eight o’clock rolled around and there was still no sign of Robbie, I began to worry that something was wrong. Forty-five minutes later I decided to give him a call. As usual, he was staying in room 65 at the Las Palmas Hotel. The receptionist put me through and on the third ring he picked up.

“Think I’m going to stay in tonight,” he told me after I asked if everything was all right. “This crap knocks me out sometimes. But I’ll be there tomorrow. No worries.”

I wanted to tell him there was something I wanted to discuss, but I held back. It was more of an in-person conversation, and since Cathy still hadn’t shown up, there was no reason it couldn’t wait until the next day.

“Just take care of yourself,” I said. “Come in when you’re ready. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Didn’t know we did delivery, too.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” I said.

He chuckled. “I know. I’m okay. Just need some sleep, I think.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” I said.

“Cheers.”

But the next night, Robbie was still too tired to come in. I was afraid he might end up going back to Australia without us getting together again, so this time I broached the idea of coming over to have a quick chat. He said he hadn’t eaten yet, so how about I meet him poolside for dinner?

I got Dandy Doug to stay late that night, and headed over to the Las Palmas to meet with the boss. I wasn’t sure how he was going to react to my idea, but I hoped it worked into his plan.

I found him sitting at a table under the awning only a few feet from the bar. He already had a glass of wine sitting in front of him.

“Haven’t ordered yet,” he said as I sat down. “Waiting for you.”

My appetite still hadn’t come back, so more out of habit than anything else, I ordered the steak and potatoes, and a bottle of water. Robbie ordered fish and vegetables.

“So what’s on your mind?” he asked while we waited for the food to arrive.

“I have a proposal for you. But I have a question first.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding for me to continue.

“I know you said you’re thinking about selling The Lounge, but I’m wondering if you’re planning on getting rid of the whole thing or just a part of it?”

“You thinking about buying?”

“Depends on your answer to the question.”

He smiled. “I guess I’d be open to either option.”

I took a deep breath and made my pitch. “What if I buy in and become your partner? I’m here all the time so you won’t have to come back at all if you don’t want to. It’ll be just like it is now, only instead of me watching over your investment, I’ll be watching over mine, too.”

He sat back in his chair. “Why don’t you buy the whole thing from me?”

I wanted to say, “Because I don’t really want to buy any of it.” The only reason I was proposing a partnership was that I had this thought, this idea, that if I became one of the owners and showed Cathy I was doing something to stay close to her, she’d see that I cared, that I had a plan for our future. I was even thinking of cutting her in on a portion of my share. What I said to Robbie was a lesser truth. “I don’t think I can afford to buy the whole bar.”

When he quoted me the price he would have asked to sell it outright, I knew I was right. I couldn’t afford it. But the feeling I had that Robbie really didn’t want to let go of The Lounge proved to be correct. He said owning it wasn’t about the tiny profit he was making. In Australian dollars, he’d never be able to live off what I deposited for him every month. It was the sense of freedom it gave him. It was that feeling he got every time he walked into The Lounge and the girls mobbed him. It was how it made him think he was bigger than he really was for a little while.

By the time we finished negotiating, I was the new one-quarter owner of The Lounge on Fields Avenue. Robbie said he’d have his Angeles lawyer draw up the contract, and once everything was signed, I could send him the money.

“But we’ll still consider you my new partner starting now,” Robbie said. “I’ll come in and tell the girls myself tomorrow.”

In what had to be a record in the Philippines, where time is definitely relative and delay is the norm, the contract was hand-delivered to me at The Lounge two days later at four p.m. It was the same day Isabel and Larry came back in, his trip almost over, but that wasn’t until well after dark.

Robbie was there that afternoon. He was feeling better, so he’d delayed his return home for a few days. It turned out to be a good move, as it ended up being his last trip outside of Australia. The surgery didn’t get everything, and when the cancer came back, it came back everywhere. He held on for several more months, but from what I was told, it was a very painful time.

“Ernesto told me he’d be able to get that done in a hurry,” Robbie said. “So I wanted to be here when you got it.”

It came in a big white envelope. I opened it and pulled out the contract. There were two copies, one for Robbie and one for me. It was thinner than I had expected, maybe a dozen pages in all.

“You might want a lawyer to take a look at it,” Robbie suggested.

I leafed through it. For the most part, it looked like the important information was on the first couple of pages.

I looked Robbie in the eyes. “Did you screw me anywhere in here?”

He shook his head. “No, mate. I didn’t screw. Ernesto wanted me to, but it’s not my style.”

I spent twenty minutes reading it over, and couldn’t find anything that seemed underhanded. Analyn was working the bar, so I called her over.

“Can you get me a pen?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

A moment later she returned with a ballpoint. I had noticed while reading the contract that Robbie had already signed everywhere he needed to, so now it was my turn. I signed in all the correct places on both copies.

“Here you go,” I said, handing a copy to Robbie. “I’ll transfer the money tomorrow.”

“No hurry,” he said as he folded his copy and slid it into his pocket. “When you get the time.” He held up his bottle of San Miguel. “Cheers, partner.”

I raised my bottle of water. “Cheers.”

When Larry and Isabel came in that night, I shared my news with them. Larry bought me a beer that I ended up leaving on the counter untouched. There were congratulations and smiles and slaps on the back. I pretended to be happy and that it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I pretended it was what I really wanted.

We were all in our own worlds that night. I didn’t notice that Isabel was worried about anything, or that Larry was trying to do everything he could to make her happy. And they didn’t notice I was lying, to them and to everyone.

There was one thing Larry did notice, though.

“Where’s Cathy?” he asked.

“She had to go away for a couple of days,” I said. It had become my standard answer.

“Is she coming back soon?”

“Should be any day now.”

“Tell her I’m sorry I missed her,” he said.

“I will,” I told him, but there was a part of me beginning to wonder if I would ever get the chance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Larry left on a Tuesday, and Robbie two days later on Thursday. On that Saturday, a full two weeks since I’d last seen her, Cathy came home.

The night before I’d ended up doing a double shift, covering for Tommy in the afternoon and working my own shift that evening. It turned out to be a busy night, so I hadn’t gone to bed until well after six a.m. on Saturday. I was dead asleep when noise from inside the house woke me.

It took me a moment before I realized someone was running the water in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It wasn’t even eleven yet. My first thought was that it was my part-time maid, Patricia. I was pissed, because I thought I’d made it clear she should never show up before two p.m.

But as I pulled myself out of bed, and donned a pair of shorts, I remembered that Saturday was Patricia’s day off. So what the hell?

I realized it was Cathy before I even got to the kitchen door. There was the hint of vanilla in the air-her personal scent, she’d called it. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I’d missed it.

So there was no surprise when I looked into the kitchen and saw her standing at the counter, only relief. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a yellow shirt I hadn’t seen before. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that trailed down her back. On the counter was a pile of fresh vegetables. I had caught her in the act of chopping onions. It was almost like she had never been gone.

“Hi,” I said, my voice still full of sleep.

She jumped, nearly cutting herself, then looked at me. “Why you scare me like that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You should be more careful.” She held up the knife. “I could have hurt myself.” She resumed her chopping.

I was still standing in the threshold, too afraid to approach her for fear that she would disappear. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making lunch. What does it look like?” She looked me up and down. “What time you go to bed?”

“I don’t know. Not long ago, I think.”

“Then what are you doing up? Go back to sleep. This won’t be ready for a couple of hours.”

“I heard a noise.”

“Bah. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you later.”

I allowed myself to take a tentative step into the kitchen. I wanted to ask her where she’d been, and if everything was okay between us. I wanted to make sure she was real. But I didn’t want to break the spell, so I said, “There’s chicken in the refrigerator, and I bought a new bag of rice. It’s in the pantry.”

She turned to me, brandishing the knife. “Go, go, go.”

So I went.

She woke me midafternoon.

“You going to sleep all day?” she asked. “Take a shower and get dressed.” She almost turned away, but she stopped herself and looked at me for a moment. “You look thinner.”

She’d set everything up on the patio table by the pool. There was even a cold Gordon Biersch Marzen waiting for me, which meant she must have had a stash somewhere in the house I didn’t know about. She’d made chicken adobo and pancit, but there was only one place setting.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.

“Already,” she said.

She sat down across from where she’d put my empty plate, a full glass of red wine in her hand. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed she wouldn’t be eating with me, but at least she was there. I took my seat, then reached over and put some adobo on my plate. As I took my first bite, I suddenly realized I was starving.

“Good?” she asked.

I nodded and smiled, my mouth full of chicken.

She didn’t force me into further conversation, and though all the same questions were still on my mind, I had no desire at the moment to voice any. We were together again, and I was happy, that’s all that mattered.

It occurred to me somewhere in the middle of the meal that maybe I did love her-I mean, really love her. The relief and the happiness I felt had to mean that, didn’t it? Of course, I was ignoring all those other times with other women when similar feelings had surfaced in me. Each and every one of those relationships proved to be something other than love, and in the clarity of years removed, they’d all been cases of something more akin to misplaced desperation as I tried to hold on to something I never really had.

But for that moment, that wrinkle in time, I loved Cathy.

“You want some Halo-Halo?” she asked as I pushed my plate away.

“As great as that sounds, I’m pretty full right now.”

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

I glanced at my watch. It was getting close to four thirty, almost time for me to leave. I debated telling Cathy about my new stake in The Lounge, but decided I’d let her find out on her own. That way it wouldn’t seem I’d bought in only to please her, at least that’s what I thought. “I need to head in,” I said, still unable to engage in anything other than the most basic of conversations. “You gonna work tonight?”

“If you need me,” she said.

“We always need you,” I told her as I stood up.

Her smile faltered, and I didn’t realize until later that the correct response was, “I always need you.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll come in. Around eight, okay?”

“Okay.”

We stayed there for several seconds, me standing next to the table and Cathy sitting holding her untouched glass of wine, looking at each other, both with something to say and neither of us saying it.

Finally I smiled and turned back for the house.

The girls welcomed Cathy back with shouts and cheers and kisses. Unlike me, several asked her where she’d been, but she would only answer, “Away,” or “Out of town.” Afraid that she might divulge more than I wanted to hear, I made my way to the back of the bar and left her to the hordes.

Soon I found myself listening to stories from a group of Americans who’d decided they’d met me on a previous trip, though I was pretty sure it was the first time we’d ever seen each other. They’d been making the rounds in Manila and had only arrived in Angeles that morning. From the way they told it, they’d each had a girl in Manila fall in love with them and beg them to stay. Fell in love with your money is more like it, I thought, but didn’t say anything. The working girls in Manila, as a lot, were hardened professionals who seldom entertained the dream of finding the right foreign guy and “getting out.” Finding a rich local guy who’d put them up in an expensive apartment, bought them fancy clothes, took them out to exotic dinners before returning home to his wife and kids-that was the height of their hope pyramid.

Ty, the unofficial group leader, talked like he’d been coming to the Philippines for over a dozen years. But I could tell he was all show. He’d been coming, at most, for the past year or two. It was obvious he didn’t want his friends to know because his experience made him “The Man.” Still, I couldn’t help dropping in a few names of fictitious bars that had “closed down” into the conversation.

“Yeah, I miss that place,” he would say, or, “They had one of the most beautiful dancers I’ve ever seen,” or, “I nearly cried when I heard they went out of business.”

I bounced from them to a couple of Japanese businessmen I knew, to three newbies from Australia, to Josh and Nicky, all the time politely declining the offer of a drink, but always buying a round for them.

Sometime early on, I glanced up and saw that Cathy had taken her familiar place behind the bar. I tried to catch her eye and give her a little wink, but she apparently was too engrossed in filling orders to notice me. About half an hour later, when I looked over again, there was an old guy sitting at the bar talking to her. I knew she was just doing her job, but I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous that this complete stranger seemed to be having a relaxed, pleasant conversation with my girlfriend.

After that, things got crazy as usual and the next thing I knew, it was time to close up. Cathy and Analyn shut down the bar while I released all the girls who were left.

When we were done, Cathy and I found Manny waiting for us outside. He grinned broadly when he saw her, and immediately called out a greeting in Tagalog. As Cathy and I jammed ourselves into the sidecar of Manny’s trike, I noticed Cathy was a little stiff.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Tired,” she said.

I put a hand on her back at the base of her neck and began to giver her a gentle massage. She smiled, then leaned back into me. I kissed her cheek lightly, realizing as I did that it was the first time I’d kissed her since she’d come back. She turned her head toward me, letting me kiss her on the lips before turning away again and closing her eyes as if she wanted to rest.

Manny dropped us off in front of our house ten minutes later. Before he left, Cathy said something to him in Tagalog, but I was too far away to catch any of it. When she was done, Manny’s ever-present smile was gone. With a single nod, he gunned his engine and left.

After we’d gone inside and turned on the lights, I went into the kitchen like I always did, and got us each a glass of water.

“Are you hungry?” I called out, but she didn’t answer, so I assumed she was already in the bedroom out of earshot.

The way the house was laid out, there was a large living room to the right of the front door as you came in, and the kitchen and dining room to the left. From the kitchen you could either exit into the backyard, or go down the hallway that led back to the bedrooms. I went into the hallway, but when I got to the master bedroom, she wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom and that was empty, too.

I was still carrying the two glasses of water when I reentered the living room and found her sitting on the couch. Beside the couch were two large suitcases. Hers. I wanted to think she just hadn’t unpacked from her trip, but I had seen those two suitcases sitting empty in our closet a couple days earlier. She hadn’t taken them on her trip.

I held out one of the glasses to her. “Thirsty?”

She took it, and said in a voice I could barely hear, “Thank you.”

I sat down on the couch, not too close to her, but not too far away either. The illusion of reconciliation I’d created since her return was all but gone. Even if I didn’t completely know why, I knew what the suitcases meant. I just didn’t want to believe it.

“Another trip?” I asked. I tried sounding lighthearted and unaffected, but it came out snippy and hurt.

“Jay,” she said, her eyes closing in pain.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “Why don’t we get some sleep and talk about this when we’re both more awake?”

She sighed. “Sleep will change nothing.”

“You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep here on the couch.”

“No,” she said. She stood up. “It’s time for me to leave.”

“Hold on,” I said, jumping up and reaching for her hand. She let me hold it for a moment before pulling away. “Are you going to tell me why?”

“You know why.” She walked over and picked up her suitcases. “I’ve left you plenty of food. And Analyn’s sister will cover for me at the bar until you hire someone else.”

“You’re leaving the bar, too?”

I could see she wanted to say something, but she finally gave up and turned for the front door.

I had already said, “Let me carry those,” before I realized I’d just volunteered to help her move out. As we reached the door, I asked, “Where are you going?”

“Away.”

Outside, Manny was once again parked in front of my house. So now I knew what Cathy had said to him. I set her bags on the ground, unable to actually put them into the trike.

“This can’t be everything,” I said, as we watched Manny set the suitcases in the sidecar.

“It’s everything I want,” she said.

“What if I need to send you something?” I asked, knowing none of the words coming out of my mouth were the words I wanted to say.

“You won’t.”

There was no room in the sidecar, so Cathy climbed onto the motorcycle behind Manny.

“Wait,” I said, finally getting ahold of myself. “Cathy, wait. Please. I don’t understand. You’ve got to at least give me a chance. Cathy, please.”

She turned to me, her eyes full of tears. “I already give you your chance.” To Manny, she said, “Go.”

I suddenly realized I hadn’t told her about my partnership in The Lounge, so I called out, “Wait! Wait!”

But by then, I was standing in front of my house alone.

It was Analyn who gave me the whole story.

“She loved you very much,” Analyn told me.

We were in the back office at The Lounge. It was Monday night. I hadn’t even bothered going in on Sunday, instead I had Tommy pay me back for the double I’d worked for him only a couple days earlier. I spent the day sitting by my pool, thinking about nothing and everything.

“She wanted to marry you, you know?” Analyn said. “If you had asked her, she would have said yes.”

But I never asked. And even as she was sitting on the back of Manny’s motorcycle, I wasn’t ready to say those words. It’s hard for someone who has little faith in himself to ask someone else to have it in him. And when it came to relationships, faith in myself seldom rose above empty. Deep down I knew I didn’t deserve her, so I could never bring myself to ask that most important question.

But it turned out someone else could.

A few days before she disappeared for those two weeks, Manus had come back to town. Manus, the old Swede who Mariella had chased away. He told Cathy when he saw her again that he’d never stopped thinking about her.

He was even older now-sixty-one is what Analyn told me-but still young enough, I guess. When he came back to Angeles, instead of going into The Lounge and surprising Cathy, he had sent her a note, inviting her to lunch the next day. She was to meet him in the lobby of his hotel if she wanted to see him. If she didn’t show up, he wouldn’t bother her again.

Analyn told me Cathy wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to hurt me, but she thought it would be nice to see Manus again. Though she may have never loved the Swede, she had been fond of him. And she was getting tired of the limbo our relationship seemed to be stuck in.

So she showed up, and Manus took her to lunch at a nice restaurant outside the district. She saw right away that Manus was still in love with her, and it softened her so that the next day when he asked if she would like to go with him to Cebu for a few days, she had said yes.

Analyn said Cathy had gone so she could do some thinking about us. Apparently she had told Manus all about me. He was understanding and didn’t push anything. “We’ll just be friends on vacation,” he’d apparently told her.

At some point, things changed. Either Cathy had realized there was no future with me beyond what we already had, or was refreshed by being with someone who was not afraid to show how much he loved her, or both, but before they returned to Angeles, they had renewed their affair.

It was on their last night away that he’d asked her to marry him.

“He surprised her,” Analyn said. “She didn’t expect him to ask that so she told him no. But he told her to think about it.”

Apparently, she had. I guess that’s what she was doing when I found her in the kitchen on that Saturday morning. And I guess whatever she found at home had helped convince her to say yes.

That night at The Lounge, Manus came in and Cathy told him she would marry him. As Analyn was telling me this, I realized I had seen him talking to Cathy. He was the old guy who had been at the bar.

“While the paperwork’s going through so he can take her home, he’s renting an apartment in Manila for them to live in,” Analyn said. “I’m sorry, Papa Jay. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

Analyn went back out into the bar, leaving me alone.

I couldn’t blame Cathy for making the choice she did. Manus was offering her a way out to a better life. Me, I was just offering more of the same. I guess what hurt most was that she had left me, a guy who she thought never truly loved her, for a guy she had never truly loved.

The party beckoned to me from the bar. Music, squealing, laughter filtering down the hallway back to my little nook. But what desire I had left to join in was gone.

Forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try to find Cathy in Manila. Unfortunately, wherever the Swede had stowed her, he had chosen well. I could never find even a hint of where they were. After a week, it seemed like I was searching the same places over and over again. That’s when I decided to give it up.

Several months later I heard that she’d received her visa and had left the country. I hoped it was true for her sake, but I never knew for sure. That moment in front of my house while she sat on the back of Manny’s trike was the last time we ever talked to each other, the last time I ever saw her.

In the weeks following her departure, life at The Lounge was the same as it had ever been and yet completely different. The perpetual party rolled on, old Angeles veterans cycled through, and new Angeles “cherry boys” walked wide-eyed through the streets. The beer was just as cold, the girls just as available, and the drama just as insidious. But it all seemed out of tune now, an ill-conceived rock opera played on ancient instruments.

I didn’t know what to do about it. I now was not only bar manager, but part owner of The Lounge. I couldn’t just get up and leave.

I told myself I had to make the best of it. Things would get better. I just needed a little time. I guess, after a while, things did get better, if you consider becoming numb to almost everything better.

In those first months after Cathy left, Mariella started showing up at The Lounge more and more. I wasn’t in a mood to care, so she seemed to annoy me less than usual. Since she normally came in early before the crowds arrived, I never asked her to leave.

Sometime she was alone, other times she was with one or two of her friends, but she never came in with a guy. I knew it didn’t mean she’d stopped working, not Mariella. It was too much of a way of life for her. She would spend most of her time when she stopped by talking to the Mariella Fan Club, which consisted of anywhere from six to a dozen girls. Occasionally she would talk with Isabel, but it wasn’t as much as I would have expected. And always, she would make it a point to stop and say a few words to me.

At first I thought it was because she was hoping I’d buy her a few drinks, but slowly over time, as our little chats grew longer, I began to realize, with subdued amusement, that she was taking a more active interest in me. I wasn’t flattered-in fact, if I wasn’t so numb I probably would have been disgusted-but I was curious to see how far she would take it.

“It was so hot today, wasn’t it?” she asked once.

“A little,” I replied.

“Did you do anything fun?”

I shrugged and told her I went for a swim.

Suddenly she got that Mariella ear-to-ear grin and said, “That’s right, that’s right. You have a swimming pool. I’m so jealous.” She slapped me playfully on the arm.

I nodded.

“A private pool,” she said. “You don’t even have to wear a swimming suit.” She laughed, but the look in her eye was inquiring. “You should have a swim party someday.”

“Maybe I will,” I said.

Her head tilted downward, chin resting on her chest. She looked at me through upturned eyes, in that look of helplessness so many of the girls had mastered. “You’ll invite me, won’t you?”

“If I do, you’ll have to bring your own swimsuit,” I said. “I don’t have anything that’ll fit you.”

She smiled. “That’s okay.”

There were dozens of conversations like this. I suppose any sane man would have pushed things to the next level. I knew Mariella was expecting me to, all her previous experience with men on Fields undoubtedly telling her I would. But I wasn’t buying in.

It was a game to me, nothing more.

The problem with going numb is that you don’t notice things, things that would have jumped out at you on any normal day. Things like how Isabel stiffened anytime Mariella came into the bar. Like how the afternoon receipts seemed lighter than usual. Or how more and more of the girls seemed to be taking shabu-shabu to get them through the night.

The once stellar reputation of The Lounge was beginning to slip, but I was oblivious. Even as we lost some of our best girls, girls who’d been with us since before I even started, I acted like nothing was wrong. In many ways, I had become like an alcoholic, only most nights I wasn’t drinking at all.

A couple days before Christmas we had our annual Christmas party and body-painting contest. It was usually a highly attended event. Only this year the crowd was thinner, maybe half the normal size. And while everyone had fun, I don’t think anyone went home thinking it was the best time they’d ever had in Angeles.

The highlight of the evening, though, was Larry’s unannounced arrival. I hadn’t seen Isabel’s face light up like that in months. Even I felt a certain amount of happiness when I saw him.

“How you doing, Doc?” he asked, after we’d given each other a warm hug.

“I’m good,” I said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He winked at me. “No one did. My Christmas surprise for Isabel.”

“If you had surprised her any more, I think you would have killed her.”

We both laughed.

“I guess I came on the right night,” he said, taking in the festivities.

I nodded.

“Good turnout,” he said.

“Not bad.”

“I got you something.” He removed the backpack that had been slung over his shoulder and opened it. From inside he pulled out a package, wrapped in gaudy Santa Claus paper, about an inch and a half square and eight inches long. He handed it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the package. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Shut up and open it,” he said.

The paper flew off and the white cardboard box that was underneath was quickly opened. At first I was looking at the wrong side of whatever was inside, so it appeared to me to be a long piece of metal that had been bent into an “L” shape. But I turned it over and quickly realized it was one of those name placards you see on desks. Engraved into the gold-colored, metal surface was:

Jay “Doc” Bradley

Owner/Manager

“Figured it would look nice in your office,” Larry said. “Just in case anyone wondered who you were.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. For most people, it would have been pretty cool. I had never had anything like it before, and there was a small part of me that felt a little more important as I ran my fingers across my name. But for the rest of me, the sign was an engraved reminder of an act of desperation that had failed.

I guess it showed on my face because Larry asked, “Don’t you like it?”

I smiled. “It’s great.”

“Good,” he said, clapping me on the back. “But that’s not all. I’ve got a dozen of your special-delivery beers back at the hotel, too.”

“My trusty supplier,” I said, attempting to recover some of my humor.

“Come by tomorrow. I’ll buy lunch and you can pick them up.”

“You’re on.”

I bought him a drink and soon he returned to Isabel, leaving me with my new reminder of my social position.

Questions began swirling in my head-dangerous questions, all beginning with “why.” As I’d done before, I pushed them to the back of my mind. Only this time they didn’t completely disappear. I signaled for Analyn to get me a San Miguel, hoping that would dull the roar.

There was one other thing of note that happened that night. It was something I might have been the only one to see. At the time, I thought it was kind of funny. Not now.

The day before, after one of our banter sessions, I had asked Mariella if she was coming to our Christmas party.

“Of course,” she had said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

She gave me one of those coy looks that said all I had to do was say the word and she would be mine. Only I was pretty sure if I did say the word, I would be more hers than the reverse.

“Good,” I told her. “We’ll be having a body-painting contest. Maybe you’ll want to join in.”

“I don’t do that,” she said, feigning indignation.

There was a time in the past when she had, but I wasn’t going to remind her about that. In fact, I didn’t really care if she showed up or not. Our banter, as fun as it was for a time, was growing stale.

So on the night of the party, I hadn’t even noticed that it was almost midnight and Mariella had yet to arrive. Instead, I was busy telling Rochelle why it would be a bad idea to go with the guy who wanted to bar fine her. He was already drunk and had a reputation of having a bad temper. But my attempt was only halfhearted and she wasn’t listening to me anyway.

After she left to get changed, I scanned the room, still nursing the same bottle of beer Analyn had given me an hour earlier. I was about to go over and join Larry and Isabel when the front door opened. Hopeful that a group of guys was about to enter, I stopped.

But instead of more potential customers, it was Mariella. I laughed to myself. She was wearing a sexy red dress that ended halfway down her thighs, and a Santa hat. Her smile was about as wide as it ever got. It was as if she was saying, “I’m here. The party can start now.”

She probably thought she was going to get a rock-star greeting, but she had walked in just as “Love Shack” came over the sound system. The dancers, no matter if they were on stage or not, and the waitresses and the bartenders all began doing the dance. The guys began whooping in support, a few of them even trying to join in. So no one saw Mariella step into The Lounge. Only me.

Her smile slipped a fraction of an inch, and I thought for a second that she was going to step back outside and try her entrance again once the song was over. But as she was turning to leave, she saw something that made her smile disappear. At the other end of her line of sight were Isabel and Larry.

Mariella walked out, but she didn’t come back in.

I got to Larry’s hotel around two thirty the next afternoon. He was staying at the Las Palmas, so we ate at one of the tables surrounding the pool. As had become my habit, I only picked at my food, eating no more than half of what I’d ordered. I had lost almost twenty pounds since Cathy had left, but on a guy my size it was probably hard to tell. It wasn’t any conscious effort to lose weight, not then. It was more an unintended byproduct of my mental state.

We’d been talking about his business in San Francisco, his expansion plans and his hopes for the coming years. So when he asked me how I liked things at The Lounge, I thought at first he was going to offer me a job.

“Things are good,” I said, my voice noncommittal.

“Really?” he asked.

“Sure.” I paused. “Well, things could always be better, but for the most part, it’s fine.”

He took a bite of his steak. “This is really good,” he said. He looked at my plate. “Don’t you like yours?”

There was barely a quarter of my steak gone. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just not that hungry.”

He cut off another piece of his and put it in his mouth. Once he’d swallowed it, he looked me in the eyes and said, “What’s going on, Doc?”

“I’m sorry?”

He set his fork and knife down. “Is it Cathy?”

“Cathy?”

“I know she’s been gone for a few months now. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t say anything for several seconds, then, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.” He picked up his Coke and took a drink.

Until that moment I had thought my internal turmoil was just that-internal. I, Psychologist of Fields Avenue, King of Self-Analysis, had been thinking I was projecting an image of normality to the rest of the world. Apparently I was wrong.

Larry continued eating and I continued pushing my food around my plate. He talked about football and how he wondered if the 49ers would ever get their act together again. I thought about Cathy. He mentioned how cold it was in San Francisco when he left. I wondered how much longer I would actually be able to keep doing this. He said he was going to take Isabel to Manila for a few days and asked if I wanted to come along. I told him I’d love to but didn’t think I could get anyone to cover my shifts for me, when in truth it was because I was afraid I’d start looking for Cathy again. At that point, as far as I knew, she hadn’t left for Sweden yet.

After we finished eating, Larry signed the bill, and told me he’d walk with me back to The Lounge. I almost told him it wasn’t necessary, afraid he’d want to prod me more. But I said okay and we headed out.

“Didn’t that used to be Jammers?” he asked as we passed a boarded-up building a block south of Fields.

“Yeah. Closed up about four months ago,” I said.

“There never seemed to be many people inside whenever I stopped by.”

“Exactly why they closed.”

A little further on, he said, “Isabel wants me to take her to a place called Clowns tonight. You ever been there?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “It’s a comedy club.”

“In English or Tagalog?”

“Both.” He had a worried look on his face, so I said, “Don’t worry, you’ll have a good time. But don’t let them know you’re a foreigner.”

He laughed. “It’s going to be pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Just don’t arrive too early, and whatever you do, when they ask if there are any visitors in the audience, don’t raise your hand.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

When we arrived at The Lounge, we stopped near the front door and shook hands. Larry then handed me the bag of Gordon Biersch Marzan he’d brought.

“Thanks,” I said. “Have fun in Manila.”

“We will. Hey, let’s you and me have a boys’ night out when we get back.”

“Okay, “ I said, then turned for the door.

“Doc,” Larry called out.

I looked back at him.

“If you ever do want to talk, I mean about anything, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Because of my lunch with Larry, I ended up getting to The Lounge sooner than I was expected. For a weekday afternoon, the bar was crowded, almost two dozen guys enjoying the show and a beer. I assumed Tommy must have sent out the call for reinforcement, because I noticed several girls from the night shift had come in early.

Tommy, never one to take his job as part-time papasan too seriously, was enjoying the special attention of one of the dancers, a girl named Charlene, and hadn’t noticed me come in. As I walked up, Charlene had just finished unbuttoning his shirt to his waist and was running her hands over his bare, hairy, flabby chest. He had a big grin on his face, and was urging her on with his eyes.

“Get you something to drink?” I asked him.

If I hadn’t been looking at him when he turned to me, I wouldn’t have noticed the flash of fear and surprise in his eyes. A fraction of a second later, it was gone.

“Hey, Doc,” he said.

“Comfortable?”

“Couldn’t be more so.”

Charlene’s hand moved down over his ample stomach toward his pants, then slipped under his waistband.

“I’ll take that drink now,” he said.

I laughed and signaled the waitress to bring Tommy a beer. The occasional fooling around on the job was not unusual. Papasans weren’t paid that much, so if a girl was willing to flirt with them, I long ago decided it wasn’t any of my business.

“I need to do a little work in back,” I said. “Come get me if you need me.”

I don’t know what Tommy was thinking. I guess he wasn’t. There had been a moment, right after I first arrived, when he could have taken action. The impulse had been there, it was what I’d seen in his eyes. But I suppose once Charlene’s hands started wandering around near his dick, his neural pathways had clogged up and his mind had gone blank.

In the end, he did get his act together. Only by then it was too late. I was already sitting at the desk in the office staring down at the remnants of two lines of white powder on the desk blotter. As if that wasn’t enough, there was the small plastic bag sitting nearby containing more of the stuff.

I didn’t even have to taste it to know it was cocaine. In my early Navy days I had tried it once. You never forget.

“What the hell?” Tommy said. He was standing in the doorway, his shirt not completely buttoned. “Is that what I think it is?”

I looked at him, my face blank. “You tell me.”

“That’s not mine, if that’s what you’re thinking. Probably one of the girls’,” he said. “I’ll bring them back here a couple at a time and we’ll find out.”

He started to leave, but I stopped him with a forceful “Wait.” Once he was looking at me, I said, “Come in and shut the door.”

I don’t know why he didn’t just run. That’s probably what he was planning to do when he said he was going to round up the girls. But instead, he did as I told him, then took the seat across from me.

“You have a better plan?” he asked. There was still a hope that I hadn’t guessed the truth in his voice.

“Yeah.” I stared at him silently for several seconds. “This is what’s going to happen,” I said, keeping my voice level and unemotional. “You’re going to give me your key to The Lounge, then you are going to get up and walk out. You’re not going to talk to anyone. You’re not going to even look at anyone. And, most importantly, you’re never going to come back here. Understand?”

“But it’s not my-”

“Bullshit! Don’t even fuck with me, Tommy. It’s yours and we both know it. I told you the rules when I took over as bar manager. Rule number one: no drugs.” I waited a moment to see if he would continue to protest, but he said nothing. “Give me your key.”

He hesitated a moment, then pulled a set of keys from his pocket, removed one and handed it to me. There was a moment of awkward silence, then he stood up.

“I’m sorry, Jay. You’re right. I fucked up.” He paused, then said, “But I’m not the only one fucking up around here.”

He started to put his hand out so we could shake, thought better of it, and left. I followed him out, making sure he didn’t talk to anyone on his way to the front door.

As soon as he was gone, a few of the girls came over to ask if something was up. I told them everything was fine. They seemed dubious, but once they returned to the fold there were no obvious signs of problems.

Over the next few days, I began to wonder if I had done the right thing. Maybe it had been an isolated event, and I’d been too harsh on him. It was the life, after all. Things happened, people made mistakes. In our fantasy existence, mistakes were often overlooked, and bad habits encouraged.

Then I found out it had been more than just the drugs. Tommy had been skimming from the receipts. I couldn’t tell how much was missing, and I would never be able to prove it, but there was no mistaking that money was missing. I knew I should have noticed it earlier, but I hadn’t. It made me wonder what else I had overlooked.

Tommy was right-he wasn’t the only one fucking up around there.

Larry and Isabel spent Christmas in Manila. He had reserved a room in the one of the best hotels in town, the Makati Shangri-La Hotel. They never left the building the entire time they were there.

Isabel said it reminded her in many ways of that first trip to Boracay. They were like two people in love for the first time. They ate breakfast in bed, went for a swim every day, and made love every afternoon before the sun went down. Dinner was in the Shang Palace, a four-star restaurant on the second level. Then it was back to the room where they’d watch a movie on TV, hold each other, make love again and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms. There was no Angeles, no go-go bars, no obnoxious customers.

“And no Mariella,” I said.

Isabel was silent for a moment. It was late, well after midnight. We were sitting by the pool at my hotel. No one else was around, just two old friends remembering other times. In some ways, better times, in other ways, not.

“Right,” she said eventually. “No Mariella.”

“Why did you stay with her?” I asked.

“It was better than going back to where I was living before,” she said, though without much enthusiasm.

Physically, it might have been better, I thought. Mentally, I wasn’t so sure.

“Why didn’t you leave Angeles after Cathy left you?” she asked

I looked away, toward the ocean. “I don’t know.”

“Same for me,” she said.

When I looked back at her, she was holding her empty wine glass in both hands, staring at it absently, a waning smile on her face.

“Would you like some more?” I asked.

“What?” She looked up, realized what she’d been doing and put the glass down. “No. No more.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” I asked.

“Do you?”

“No.”

We sat quietly for several minutes listening to the ocean, lost in our thoughts. At some point she reached over and put her hand over mine.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” she said.

I looked over, brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Cathy. She got out,” she said, then more distantly added, “She was lucky.”

I almost laughed in surprise. Though she was right-I was thinking about Cathy-my thoughts were no longer of what could have been, but merely of one friend worrying about another, and hoping she was happy.

“What were you thinking about?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. There was a pause, then, “Nothing at all.”

The silence returned, this time stretching out for almost five minutes. But we were getting closer to the end, closer to the things I’d come to find out. So finally I said, “Tell me about when you came back to Angeles.”

A single tear welled in the corner of her eye, but somehow she refused to let it fall.

“We came back two days after Christmas. I wanted to stay in Manila longer. I don’t know why, but Larry wanted to return to Angeles…”

They returned to the Las Palmas Hotel, and though they both would have liked to stay in Manila longer, I knew that Larry was watching his expenses. His business back home was growing, but he told me that cash flow was tight. Staying at the Las Palmas Hotel was a hell of a lot cheaper than staying at the Makati Shangri-La. In another six months, he had said, he’d be doing really well. And in another year, he figured he could afford a full month at the Shangri-La without even worrying about it.

I don’t know why he never told Isabel this. Pride, I guess, but she wouldn’t have cared. In fact, she probably would have been happy to help him save every penny.

It wasn’t long after their return that Mariella showed up again, this time “accidentally” running into them while they were having breakfast at The Pit Stop the morning after they got back.

“Hi,” she said, drawing the word out so it sounded like she was almost singing it. “Larry, so good to see you.”

She leaned down and gave Larry a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I wondered what happened to Isabel until someone told me you were back in town,” she said. “What a surprise.” She smiled at Isabel. “What a nice Christmas present for you, di ba?”

“Yes,” Isabel said, her own smile slightly strained.

“Where are you staying? The Las Palmas again?” Mariella asked.

“Yes,” Larry said.

“That’s great, that’s great.”

“We’re just about to have breakfast. Would you like to join us?” Larry asked.

Isabel cringed inwardly.

“Oh, I wish I could,” Mariella said, “but I am meeting some friends. We’re going to the mall in San Fernando. Have you been?”

“Once,” Larry said.

“Would you like to come with us?”

Larry smiled. “I think we’re just going to take it easy today.”

“No problem, no problem. You have a fun day, okay?” She leaned in and kissed the air a few inches above her cousin’s cheek. “Next time tell me when you’re going away. You had me scared.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I have to go,” Mariella said. “I’ll see you later.” When she was only a few feet away, she looked back. “It’s really good to see you again, Larry.”

Two nights later, Larry stopped by The Lounge alone.

“I was wondering when we could have that boys’ night out,” he said as we sat at the bar.

“Kind of tough for me to get away right now,” I said. “I’m down a papasan, so Doug and I are working every day.”

When he asked what happened, I looked around to make sure no one else was nearby, then told him the Tommy story.

After I finished, he said, “That sucks,” then took a sip of his beer.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I said.

“Were you?”

“Of course I was,” I said.

He nodded. He took another drink of his beer, then set it down on the counter and turned on his barstool so he was facing the dance stage. “Have you looked at this place lately?”

“I look at it every day.”

“On my last trip, The Lounge was the place to be. Every night was like a party. All the girls were having fun, they all felt cared for and watched over. By you. That was about the same time you bought a share of this place, right?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Cathy left you not long after that, didn’t she?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

He chuckled as if I’d said something funny. “I know you’ve been thrown into the shit, but you’ve got to pull yourself out.”

“Maybe you need to mind your own business a little more,” I told him.

“Maybe,” he replied.

One of the dancers walked by and tried to catch Larry’s eye, going so far as to run her hand across Larry’s knee as she passed. He gave her a quick smile, but shook his head so she walked on.

“That wouldn’t have happened before,” Larry said.

“What?” I asked.

“Everyone here knows I’m Isabel’s boyfriend. In the past, that meant none of the girls tried to make a move on me. But the atmosphere’s changed. It’s like no one cares about anyone else here anymore. Every girl for herself.”

“That’s crap,” I said.

“No,” he said, “it’s not.” He looked me in the eyes. “You used to have control of this place. I used to watch you work. You were gentle, but firm. Now? It’s like you just don’t care. If I can see it, you know the girls can see it. They take their cues from you so now they don’t care, either.”

I pushed up off my stool, my eyes narrowing with anger. “You come here two or three times a year,” I said, keeping my voice low so no one else could hear what I was saying. “You barely spend any time in my bar at all, and yet you’re telling me I’ve lost control of my business? Who the hell are you to do that?”

“A friend,” he said calmly.

“Well, fuck you, friend.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Isabel told me our little discussion caused more friction when Larry got back to the hotel. She was on the bed, propped up against the headboard watching TV, when he returned.

“I thought you were going to take a nap,” he said as he sat down next to her.

“I did for a while,” she said.

Isabel had the TV tuned to the music video channel. Most were Filipino bands singing in a mixture of Tagalog and English. But occasionally, a band from the States or the U.K. would show up.

Larry kicked off his shoes and stretched out, his eyes half closed.

“I thought we were going out,” Isabel said.

“Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

Larry opened one eye and looked at her, smiling. “Just let me rest here for a few minutes first, okay?”

He closed his eye again, and soon his breathing became steady and deep.

“Where did you go?” Isabel asked.

When he didn’t answer, she nudged him and asked the question again.

Without opening his eyes, he said in a sleepy voice, “I went to The Lounge.”

“Why you go there?” she asked. “I’m not working tonight.”

“Doc is.”

“You talk to Papa?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“You not go out and meet another girl for short time?”

That got him to open his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe you want to have a little fun so you leave me here in the room.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “I went to see Jay. I had a beer, then I came back here. Why do you think I was with another girl?”

“All guys do it.” It was her biggest fear, one that gave her nightmares several times a week.

“We’ve been through this before,” he said, lying back down and closing his eyes.

“So you agree with me all guys do it?”

“When did I say that?” he asked. “And just so we’re clear, no, I don’t think all guys do it. I don’t do it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

He exhaled, then sat all the way up, swinging his feet around and putting them on the floor. After a moment, he stood, and then turned and looked down at Isabel. “Because I’m not,” he said.

“You really went and visited Papa Jay?”

“Why don’t you go over there and ask him, if you want? He’s not likely to forget that I was there.”

His words confused her, so she asked him what he meant. He told her about his conversation with me.

“What?” she asked, horrified.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“You told him all that?”

He nodded. “You’re the one who said things weren’t the same anymore.”

“You didn’t tell him I said that, did you?”

“Your name didn’t even come up.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and began rubbing the sides of her head with her hands. “Why did you have to say anything?”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

Her head was pounding. How was she ever going to go back to work? She didn’t know how she would be able to face me again. She thought I would tell her to leave the moment she walked in, that I would blame her for everything Larry had said. Even if I wasn’t the same person I’d been a few months earlier, I was still her boss, still the one who watched out for her when Larry was thousands of miles away.

She jumped off the bed and raced to the bathroom, but the tears came before she was able to get inside, and by the time she had the door shut behind her, she was sobbing. Within seconds, Larry was on the other side.

“Isabel, it’s not that bad,” he said, his voice muffled by the door. “You said you wanted to help him, so I tried to help him.”

She had said that, but this wasn’t what she meant.

She reached up to make sure the door was locked. For ten minutes, Larry continued trying to talk to her, but she refused to answer him. And when he left the room, she didn’t even hear the door open, her sobs deafening her to anything else.

I have no way of knowing what Larry was thinking when he left the room. Maybe that if he gave her a little time alone she would calm down and see he had only been trying to do the right thing. Or maybe his intentions had been to find help right from the start. Whatever it was, at some point he found himself on Fields Avenue, ducking in and out of the different bars looking for someone he thought could make Isabel come to her senses. Looking for Mariella.

We are all fools at one time or another in our lives. Most of us are fools on more than one occasion. Larry was a fool that night. I knew for a fact he was not fond of Mariella, and he had to know that Isabel, even if she hadn’t said anything to him, had issues with her, too. But for some reason, he put that aside. If Cathy had still been in town, she would have undoubtedly been the one he asked to help him, and if we hadn’t just had our own fight, he would have come to me next. Who else did he know here? No one, really. No one but Mariella.

He found her playing pool at The Eight Ball. I don’t know what he said to her, but soon they were on their way back to his room.

Isabel had no idea how long she had been in the bathroom when she heard the front door open. Until that moment, she thought Larry was still in the room, but realized he must have left sometime earlier.

“Isabel,” Larry said. “Are you all right?”

Her sobbing had stopped, and most of her tears had dried up, but she didn’t trust her own voice, so she said nothing.

“Isabel, It’s Mariella.”

Isabel tensed at the sound of her cousin’s voice.

“Why are you acting so crazy? Come out now,” Mariella said.

This probably wasn’t the kind of help Larry wanted. Isabel heard Larry whisper something to Mariella, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“Isabel,” Mariella said a moment later. “It’s okay. We’re your friends, di ba? Come out and talk to us.”

“I’m sorry,” Larry said. “I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt you. Please come out.”

Slowly Isabel stood up. Her hand rested on the doorknob for nearly a minute before she finally turned it. The pained look on Larry’s face was enough for her to know he truly had meant her no harm. He seemed to hang there, a few feet beyond the doorway, unsure of what he should do.

Mariella, on the other hand, stepped forward immediately and put an arm around Isabel’s shoulders, guiding her out of the bathroom.

“Are you okay now?” Mariella said. “Everything all right?”

Isabel sniffed a couple of times, and nodded.

When she reached Larry, she stopped. He tentatively put a hand out and moved a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Tears welled anew in her eyes, but this time she reached out and pulled herself into his chest. Larry led her to the bed, where they sat on the edge. He stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead. At some point, Mariella handed her a glass of water and a pill.

“Take it,” Mariella said. “It will help you relax.”

Isabel wanted to protest, but the look in Mariella’s eyes told her she’d better just do as her cousin ordered. It didn’t take long before she was feeling sleepy. The last thing she remembered was Mariella looking down at her, smiling peacefully. But it wasn’t the smile that made the biggest impression. It was her cousin’s eyes, filled with hatred and jealousy.

What happened next wasn’t surprising. Ever-loyal Larry told Isabel everything the next morning. At first, it was as if her whole nightmare was coming true. Isabel cried again, but this time, Larry didn’t leave her side until she listened to everything he said, and understood that he would never let anything come between them.

What he told her was this: After Isabel fell asleep, Mariella had said her cousin wouldn’t wake until the morning. He thanked her for her help, and told her she didn’t have to hang around. But she insisted on staying a little longer to make sure Isabel was okay.

They watched TV for a while, Larry sitting on the bed next to Isabel, Mariella using one of the chairs by the window.

“Do you mind if I get something to drink?” Mariella asked.

“Help yourself,” Larry said.

From the small refrigerator she removed a couple of beers and opened them.

“Here,” she said, handing one to Larry.

“No, thanks,” he said, putting a hand up. “I’m okay.”

“But it’s already opened,” she said.

Larry smiled halfheartedly and took the bottle.

Before he knew it, they’d finished off all the beer in the refrigerator.

“You want to play some pool?” Mariella said.

“I should stay.”

Mariella glanced at Isabel. “She won’t even know we’re gone.”

He didn’t relent right away, but when she continued to entice him, he finally did. He thought they would go to the tables right there in the hotel, but instead Mariella said she wanted to play someplace else.

The neon lights of Fields were shining brightly, illuminating the constant flow of traffic. The street was jammed with trikes and jeepneys, while on the sidewalk door girls stood in front of bars talking to any guy that passed by. There were people everywhere-couples, individuals, groups-all smiling, laughing, having a good time. Music seemed to be coming from all directions, competing songs blaring out of speakers mounted above the door of each bar, melding together into a strange rhythm all its own.

Mariella led Larry past The Pit Stop and down to The Rack. To him, everyone in the place seemed to know Mariella. The mamasan bought them both a drink and told them to have fun.

There were two pool tables in the back beyond the large, square stage that sat in the middle of the room. While the place was doing a pretty good business, only one of the tables was occupied. Mariella racked the balls on the empty table.

“You can break,” Larry said when she offered the honor to him.

He lost track of how many games they played, but he was pretty sure Mariella won most of them. While they were playing, Mariella would touch him on the shoulder or the arm. Each time Larry would step away, chalking up his cue or pretending to check out his next shot. Once she brushed passed him, her breast running lightly across his back as she made her way to the other end of the table. It could have been explained away by the tight space between the table and the wall. Then again…

“I think it’s time I head back,” he said, wrapping up the last game.

“What? It is still early,” Mariella said. “Isabel won’t wake up until morning. And you are on vacation. She would want you to be having fun.”

“Thanks for the pool.” He handed her some pesos, then headed for the door.

He’d barely stepped outside when he felt Mariella’s hand on his back.

“I can’t let you walk back on your own,” she said, smiling. “You don’t mind, do you?”

As much as he wanted to say otherwise, he said, “No.” She was Isabel’s cousin, and, as Isabel pointed out several times, the only family she had in town.

As they walked, Mariella talked almost nonstop about things he didn’t care about and barely listened to. She didn’t stop until they were climbing the stairs of the hotel to his floor.

At his door, he removed the key from his pocket, but didn’t put it in the lock right away.

“Thanks again for your help,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“You’re sure you don’t need my help?”

“You’re the one who said she’s not going to wake up until morning,” he said.

She pouted. “Are you sure?”

Larry nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

“All right,” she said.

She opened her arms, so Larry leaned forward to give her a quick hug. When she turned her head to kiss him, Larry thought it was going to be her normal peck on the cheek. Instead, her lips found his. Immediately, he pushed her away.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

She took a step back toward him. “Giving you what you want.”

“I don’t want this!”

“Come on,” she said, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm. “Isabel will never know.”

He pushed her hand away. “No.”

“We can do it in the shower. You’ll love it. I make better love than Isabel ever will. You’ll see. I’ll show you.”

Larry stepped backward until he felt the door behind him. “Get away from me. I don’t want you.”

“Everyone wants me.”

“Not me.”

She stared at Larry, then the grin on her face grew. “That’s okay. I’ll tell Isabel we did it anyway. Maybe I’ll tell her you tried to rape me while she was sleeping.” She paused. “But if you really want to do it, I won’t tell her anything.”

“Go ahead,” Larry said. He took a step toward her, angrier than he’d ever been. “Tell her whatever you want, but don’t think I’m not going to tell her everything you’ve just said first.”

There was a flicker of doubt in Mariella’s eyes, then she laughed. “Larry, I was just kidding, di ba? Just a joke. Isabel is my cousin. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

“Get out of here,” Larry said.

“It’s okay. You’re just upset. It was only a joke.”

Larry took another step toward her, so she backed away.

“Okay, I’m leaving. You’ll feel better in the morning. You’ll see I was just joking. Maybe we can have lunch.”

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” Larry said, pronouncing each word carefully. “And if I do, I will tell everyone, and I mean everyone, what you tried to do to me tonight.”

Her smile disappeared. “No one would believe you.”

Larry shook his head. “You know they would.”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrow and piercing, then turned and walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

For the rest of Larry’s visit, Isabel said she never left his side. When he had told her about his encounter with Mariella, she had been hurt and angry, more with Mariella than with Larry. Isabel knew deep down that he would never have done anything on purpose to hurt her. What she felt toward Larry was embarrassment and shame.

It had been Mariella who had put it in her head that no guy could ever really be trusted, so when Isabel had woken the previous evening alone while Larry was visiting me at The Lounge, it was Mariella’s voice she heard whispering in her ear. “He’s just like the others,” it said. “He’s probably having sex with some girl right now while you sit here and wait for him.” Isabel knew it couldn’t be true, but there was enough doubt in her mind that when he did return, she couldn’t help bringing it up. And once she did, all her insecurities and fears rose to the surface and consumed her.

Then, once she was calmed and sleeping, it was Mariella again who had provided the source of her pain. Her cousin had tried to seduce Larry, right in front of their room. She had put her lips on his lips, rubbed her body against his. She had tried to get him worked up so he would want to make love to her right where they stood, or even in the room as Isabel slept a few feet away.

In a strange way, the fact that Larry had been able to say no to Mariella almost made Isabel feel worse. She, after all, had not been so immune to her cousin’s influence.

When Larry finished confessing to her, Isabel stared silently at the floor. When he asked her if she was angry with him, she wanted to tell him no, but it hardly seemed adequate enough. How could she tell him she loved him at that moment more than ever, when her embarrassment made it nearly impossible for her to even look him in the eyes? But eventually she did tell him. Not only about her feelings for him, but also about her relationship with Mariella. All of it.

They went out for a late breakfast. Isabel said she wasn’t hungry, but Larry insisted that she eat.

“I don’t want you living with her anymore,” Larry said.

Isabel wasn’t sure what to say at first. Where would she live if not with Mariella? She definitely didn’t want to go back to where she’d been before, so what choice did she have?

Apparently he could see the hesitation on her face. He said, “I mean it. It’s not safe for you. She’ll just continue messing with your mind. You need to get out of that environment. Now.”

“Environment?” she asked. The word was familiar, but the usage was not.

“You have to get away from her,” he explained. “She’s going to make you crazy if you don’t.”

She looked at the ground as she said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

His laughter surprised her. It was genuine and good-natured. “Come on,” he said.

They spent the next three days looking at apartments, some close to Fields, some many miles away. Isabel had at first protested, saying she couldn’t come close to affording a place of her own. If he really wanted her to move out of Mariella’s, she would go back to the place she had lived before. But he insisted that he would pay for it.

“I told you I don’t want to touch that money,” she said, assuming he meant the monthly cash he wired to her through me.

“That money’s for you, whether you want to use it or not. Renting you an apartment will be for me,” he said. “For my peace of mind.”

She was finally able to rationalize the idea by telling herself it would save him the cost of a hotel room every time he came to town. And if it made him happy, she guessed it would be okay.

In many of the places they looked, Larry would walk in, take a quick glance around and shake his head. To Isabel, these apartments looked perfectly fine, but not to Larry. It quickly got to the point where he could judge an apartment from the outside of the building, and save them the trouble of going in at all.

It came down to a choice between three places. The two largest were a good fifteen-minute jeepney drive from Fields Avenue without traffic. The third was a bit smaller, but she could walk to work if she wanted. She was scared to live too far from where all her friends were, so the choice became a simple one.

Larry, with Isabel’s help, haggled with the landlord before finally settling on an arrangement that would work for all of them. Larry paid for six months in advance, and said he would pay for the next six months when he returned in the spring. The amount was small, less than half the going rate of a comparable apartment back in San Francisco for a single month. Just to make sure everyone was happy, he slipped the landlord an extra thousand pesos for “being so cooperative.”

The next day was spent buying furniture. As they drove around in a trike looking for a bed, a dresser, a table and the other items Larry thought Isabel would need, she glanced down every so often to the key she held in her hand, the key to her own place. She could hardly believe it. It was the first time in her life she would be living on her own. She was so excited. The only thing that would have been better was if Larry had asked her to marry him and move back to America.

The only times during those days that her happiness dipped was when they went back to Mariella’s to get Isabel’s things. It took two separate nights of waiting before they were actually able to go in. The first night they couldn’t be sure if Mariella was there or not, neither of them having any desire to confront her.

The second night, they waited in a trike down the street, within sight of Mariella’s house. It was early evening, and they could see a few lights on inside, which Isabel knew meant Mariella was still home. Less than thirty minutes later, the lights went out and Mariella appeared at the front door, dressed for a night on Fields. She waved at a group of trike drivers waiting for fares at the end of the block. One of them broke off from the pack and drove over to her. As soon as she took her seat in the sidecar, it took off again.

“You’re sure she won’t come right back?” Larry asked.

Isabel shook her head. “Not until late. If at all.”

Isabel told the driver to pull up in front of Mariella’s place. At first, Larry had thought they needed to bring the driver into their confidence to get him to participate in their plan, but Isabel told Larry to just give him five hundred pesos and there would be no problem. She had been right.

It’d been decided beforehand that, in case Mariella came back unexpectedly, Larry would wait with the trike while Isabel went inside and retrieved her things. There wasn’t much, really. Some clothes, a few items Larry had given her, no more than a suitcase’s worth.

As she approached the door, her hand began to shake, and for a second she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get the key in the lock. But it slipped in on the second try, and before she knew it, she was inside the place that had been her home.

She walked quickly to the stairs, then up to her room. As she entered, she stopped, confused. Everything was changed. The furniture was rearranged, the pictures on the wall were replaced. When she threw open the door to the closet, there was nothing there. She ran over to the dresser, pulling out drawer after drawer, but there was nothing there, either. All of her stuff was gone. It was like she had never spent a single night there. She searched the rest of the second floor, but there was no sign of anything that had been hers.

Downstairs she ran from room to room, hoping to find that Mariella had just packed everything away for her. She didn’t have many clothes-two dresses, some T-shirts, a pair of jeans. But it wasn’t the clothes that concerned her most. She would have been happy to part with them if she could only find the hinged, wooden box that held the memories of her life with Larry: pictures, airline ticket stubs, a dried rose. None of it was there.

Finally, she forced herself to go into Mariella’s bedroom. Again, her clothes were not to be found. But in the corner of the closet, under several full shoeboxes, she found her wooden box. When she opened it, what she saw caused her to momentarily stop breathing.

The pictures had all been ripped into pieces.

As Isabel reached out and touched them, tears began to run down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away. No matter what Mariella had done, she hadn’t taken Isabel’s memories.

Isabel tucked the box under her arm and left.

When she got back to the trike, Larry asked, “Everything all right?”

She smiled weakly, then told the driver to take them back to her apartment.

Larry looked dubiously at the box under her arm. “Is that it?”

For an entire block, she didn’t answer him. Then, without taking her eyes off the road ahead, she simply said, “Yes.”

They spent most of the remainder of Larry’s visit in the new apartment. “Our” apartment, they began referring to it. For Isabel, it was the closest she’d ever come to feeling married. In the mornings, she’d get up and make him breakfast. They’d spend the day walking around the neighborhood or hanging pictures on the walls or shopping for little things he thought she could use.

He bought her clothes, which she said she didn’t need, but couldn’t wait to wear. And in the end, he bought her a TV. “So you won’t be bored,” he said.

Not once did they see Mariella.

The day before his plane was to leave, they went to Manila and spent their time in their hotel room holding each other and talking and making love. It was always hard for her when he left, but this time it was more difficult than usual. When it came time to go to the airport, she couldn’t stop herself from crying.

Larry held her close. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

“When?” she asked.

“Two or three months. We’ve lasted that long before.”

She wanted to tell him that was before, not now. Now, she wanted to be with him all the time. But she said, “Okay.”

At the airport, they said their goodbyes on the sidewalk.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” he told her.

“I know.”

He kissed her.

“Let me know if there are any problems with the apartment,” he said.

“I will.”

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love you, too,” she said.

During the entire two-and-a-half-hour trip home, she stared out the window of the hired car and tried to keep from thinking about anything. At some point she fell asleep, waking only as they exited the highway at Angeles and stopped to pay their toll.

Two or three months, he had said. She knew logically it wasn’t that long, but it seemed like forever. For Larry, though, she could do it. He was her world and whatever he wanted, she wanted. They would talk on the phone, and she would work, and before she knew it, he would be back again. That’s what she told herself anyway.

In reality, she was on edge, her emotions shifting wildly. And while talking on the phone might have allowed Larry to tell her how much he loved her, she really needed him there beside her. Holding her, being with her, loving her. There was nothing like personal contact.

And in that area, Mariella had the edge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As for me, when Larry left The Lounge that night after our disagreement, I got drunk for the first time in months. It wasn’t a typical papasan drunkenness that had been almost a perpetual state for me since I started working on Fields, the kind that made me feel really good but still able to keep my business head about me. That’s when I drank because it was expected, an unwritten part of the job description.

No, it wasn’t like that this time. I didn’t care about the party anymore. I just wanted to silence the thoughts and voices and images that were besieging me. My subconsciousness was starting to wake up again, but all I wanted to do was stay numb. So I drank until I all but collapsed on the bar.

Analyn had a couple of the other girls help her close up. When they were done, she waited until Manny arrived to take me home. Between the two of them, they maneuvered me into the sidecar. I’m sure it wasn’t easy; I was still pretty big then. I barely remember any of it. What I do recall was that Manny had to stop at least twice on the way to my place so I could lean out into the night and vomit on the road.

I woke around noon, head pounding and throat feeling like every ounce of moisture had been sucked out of it. I was lying on top of my bed, still wearing the clothes I’d gone to work in the previous night. I didn’t want to move, and yet I had to. My bladder was screaming at me, and I needed aspirin. And water, about an ocean’s worth.

As I climbed out of the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, I had to reach out several times to steady myself on whatever was nearby. I was still a little drunk, and that pissed me off. There were few things worse than having a raging hangover and still being drunk.

I managed to miss the toilet only once as I relieved myself. Pretty good, I thought, considering. I stripped off everything, then turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it. Before I stepped in, I grabbed the bottle of aspirin and poured five tablets into my hand. I shoved them in my mouth two at a time and dry swallowed them.

After that, I stood in the shower, the hot water massaging the nape of my neck, trying not to think about why I was in this state but not doing a very good job at it. At first, I blamed my condition on Larry. If he hadn’t been such an asshole, it would have been just another of my increasingly sober nights.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that I was the asshole.

I turned to face the water, closing my eyes and letting it run over my head. I could feel the alcohol finally receding from my body. My headache, while still very much there, had also lost some of its strength.

I remember when I was young, we had these next-door neighbors who used to fight all the time. Actually it was the wife who did most of the yelling. The husband-their last name was Russell, I think-was always this really nice guy. He talked to me when he saw me, and seemed to have a smile on his face whenever he walked down the street. His wife was the best-looking woman on the block, who barely noticed any of us kids as we stopped what we were doing and stared every time we saw her. Anyway, I guess she wanted more out of life than Mr. Russell could give her, so one day she left. I remember asking my dad why Mr. Russell didn’t try to find her, and ask her to come back. Dad took a long time before he answered, and when he did, there was a kind of resignation to it. “He didn’t have the energy anymore.”

I knew everything Larry said to me the night before had been right. What I didn’t know was if I had the energy to do anything about it anymore.

One of the things I knew I had to do was apologize to Larry, but when I called his room at the Las Palmas, no one answered. I called back and left a message with the receptionist, then headed off for The Lounge.

At first the girls seemed surprised that I had come in, but soon they were laughing and teasing me about my little binge the previous night. When Analyn set a San Miguel on the bar for me, I shook my head and told her to give me a water instead.

As the night went on, it was almost like I was seeing the place for the first time. There was a general lack of discipline I hadn’t noticed before. Girls were carrying their cell phones tucked in the back of their bikini bottoms. More than once, I saw one of the dancers on stage stop in the middle of a song, pull out her phone, and read a message she’d just received. Even those sitting with customers were sending and receiving texts. And that wasn’t all. Dancers were blowing off their turns on the stage, fighting over customers in ways I’d never allowed before, and generally acting like prima donnas.

There was a part of me that was appalled I had been letting this go on, but another part of me wondered if I should really care.

“Analyn,” I said, waving her over. “I want someone to collect the cell phones from any girl who has one and put them in my office.”

She looked at me for a moment like she hadn’t understood what I said.

“They know the rules,” I told her. “Do it now, please.”

I never heard from Larry before he left. Of course now I know why. I thought perhaps he was pissed off at me, but as he was dealing with finding Isabel a new place to live, he probably didn’t even give me a second thought.

It was better that way. If I’d seen him, I would have apologized and told him he was right, and in effect given myself a pass to slack off again because at least I admitted my problem. But since I didn’t get that opportunity, I was forced to look inside and really examine what the hell was going on with me.

Within two weeks, The Lounge was back to the shape it should have been. I’d also hired two new papasans, two Brit ex-pats named Andrew and Mark. Now, including Dandy Doug and me, there were four of us, more than enough for me to cut down on my hours.

I found myself spending more and more time alone at my house by my pool. And for the first time since I’d moved to Angeles, I began to wonder if this was really the place I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

When Isabel returned to work, she told me about her new apartment. When I asked her what Mariella thought about it, she got kind of quiet, shrugged, then suddenly noticed a customer who needed a drink.

The old me, the numb me, probably wouldn’t have connected the dots, but I was awake again and immediately understood what was going on.

At around ten that evening, Mariella showed up. I watched as she scanned the room before finally walking over and sitting down on the stool next to me. I knew who she had been looking for, but Isabel was nowhere to be seen, no doubt hiding in back somewhere.

“Hello, Papa Jay,” Mariella said, smiling.

“Hey,” I replied.

“No beer tonight?” she asked, then laughed.

She hadn’t been there the night I’d gotten drunk, but one of the girls must have told her about it.

I tilted my bottle of water toward her in a silent toast but said nothing.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. “Is your air conditioning working?”

“It’s fine.”

“Maybe it’s just me. I probably should have something to drink,” she said expectantly.

As our nightly visits had become more regular, I had started buying her a couple of beers. We would flirt for a while, and then she would leave. The thought of continuing those games suddenly disgusted me.

“That’s up to you,” I said.

Her mouth opened in mock shock, then she hit me softly on the shoulder with her open hand. “You’re not going to buy me something?”

“Nope.”

This time there was nothing mocking about the look on her face. Her surprise was genuine, but she quickly tried to hide it behind another one of her smiles. “Is my cousin here tonight?”

“Haven’t seen her,” I said.

“Is Larry still here?”

“Haven’t seen him, either.”

“I see, I see,” she said. “Maybe they went out of town.”

“Maybe.”

We sat in silence for several minutes, me doing my best to ignore her, and Mariella occasionally glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, probably trying to figure out why I was acting so different.

“Maybe we can go out of town sometime,” she finally said, smiling playfully and turning in her stool so her leg rubbed up against mine.

I stood up. “I don’t see that happening.”

I walked across the room and greeted a couple of customers I recognized. When I looked back at the bar, Mariella was gone. As far as I know, she never set foot in The Lounge again.

About a month later, I received a call from Larry. It was only the third time he’d ever phoned when he wasn’t in town. I was at work, and when I looked at my cell phone, I didn’t recognize the number. But I could tell it was from the States, so I went ahead and answered.

I didn’t recognize Larry’s voice right away, so I asked who it was.

“It’s Larry,” he said.

“Larry? Oh, sorry,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” There was a moment when neither of us spoke. I was on the verge of telling him I was sorry for how I’d acted the last time we’d talked, when he spoke first. “How’s Isabel?”

“She seems fine,” I said. “She told me about her new apartment. Your doing, I suppose.”

He hesitated before he spoke. “It was necessary.” His words were measured, as if he were unsure where I stood as far as Mariella was concerned.

“Getting her away from her cousin was probably the best thing you could have done for her,” I told him.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, sounding relieved. “She hasn’t been around has she?”

“Who? Mariella?”

“Yes.”

“She came by once or twice,” I said.

“Did she talk to Isabel?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “But hurry back. I think she misses you more than usual.”

“As soon as I can.”

After we hung up, I realized I hadn’t apologized. I promised myself the next time I saw him, I would buy him a beer and do just that.

“I’d only been in the apartment for six weeks,” Isabel said. “No one ever visited me there. Only Larry.”

The night had become quiet. While in other parts of Boracay there would be drinking and dancing and singing until dawn, at my hotel, most of the guests were asleep. We were sitting on the edge of the pool now, our legs dangling in the warm water. The fresh scent of the earlier rain shower still hung in the air.

Isabel looked up at the night sky. “I never wanted to have anyone but Larry there. It was our place, and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“That’s why you never invited me over,” I said.

When she answered, her voice was serious. “Yes. That’s why.” She glanced at me, then looked back at the sky. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

“No,” she said. “I should have offered to show you. After she’d been there, what did it matter?”

“Mariella?”

She nodded.

We sat that way for several minutes, looking at the stars, lost in our thoughts.

“What happened?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I let her back into my life.”

It wasn’t quite that easy, but essentially, that’s what happened. Mariella appeared at her doorstep, her eyes dark and tired, her smile missing. Her head was even bowed slightly, as if she expected Isabel to slam the door in her face.

Isabel should have, but couldn’t. Mariella was family.

“I’m sorry,” Mariella said. “You should hate me, but I hope you don’t. I’ve only been trying to help you, but sometimes, maybe, I was not right. You can forgive me for that, can’t you? I…I know you found your box.” She paused. “It was wrong of me to cut up the pictures, but I was so mad and hurt, I couldn’t help myself. Please, Isabel, please. I ask that you forgive me. Look.” She held up the soft-sided suitcase she was carrying. “Your clothes.”

“My clothes?” Isabel said, confused. “I thought you threw them away.”

“Why would you think such a thing? I was only having them cleaned for you. See? They are all here.”

She set the bag on its side and unzipped it. Inside were all Isabel’s clothes, clean and folded.

“I knew you would want these,” Mariella told her. “When you didn’t come to get them, I thought I’d bring them to you.”

She zipped the case back up and pushed it toward Isabel.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Isabel told me she had never seen Mariella look so miserable, and she couldn’t help thinking her cousin was genuinely remorseful. But then Isabel thought about what Larry had told her about that night when she was asleep and he was alone with Mariella.

She picked up the suitcase and moved it inside the apartment. “Thank you for bringing these to me,” she said. Then, with more courage than she had ever mustered in her life, she shut the door.

Mariella didn’t give up. She came back the next day, this time bringing lunch. Isabel declined, but again the look in Mariella’s eyes momentarily softened her.

The fourth time Mariella showed up, Isabel relented and let her come in. They split a soda-it was the only drink Isabel had-and sat on the couch talking about family. Isabel even found herself laughing at one of her cousin’s stories.

Day by day they began to rebuild their relationship. Isabel rationalized it as being respectful of her mother and her aunt, Mariella’s mother, but also promised herself she would be careful how close they got. Still, by the end of a few weeks, it was almost like they were back to where they were before.

Whenever their conversation veered in the direction of Larry, one of them would change the topic. Isabel did it because she was glad she could reconnect with her cousin and didn’t want to ruin things, and Mariella because, as it turned out, it just wasn’t time yet.

When Isabel talked to Larry, she never mentioned Mariella. She knew he would be upset. Her plan was to talk about it during his next visit. She figured in person it would be easier to make him understand. So when he asked her if she had talked to her cousin, she would say something like, “Don’t worry so much,” or, “I’m doing what you told me to do-being in charge of my life.” If he realized she was evading his question, he never said anything.

He was scheduled to come back near the end of March, but like that previous September, he had to postpone because of work. Only this time instead of a week, it was a whole month.

It was exactly what Mariella had been waiting for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

At first, Mariella took Larry’s side, defending him as Isabel cried in frustration that she would have to wait another month to see him. “He is a very busy and important man,” Mariella said. “Sometimes his work has to come first. How else will he be able to afford to buy you a beautiful diamond ring when he asks you to marry him?”

“But he has never said he will marry me,” Isabel argued.

“Oh, I’m sure he will.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.”

They would have a similar conversation several times a day. The talk would make Isabel feel better, even hopeful. If Mariella thought Larry would marry her, it must be true. Without even knowing it, Isabel had once again ceded control to the one person she had promised herself she would never give in to again.

After a few days of this, as Isabel became more accepting of the fact Larry wouldn’t be there until the end of April, Mariella’s optimistic tone took a slight turn.

“It’s too bad,” she said one day as they sat in Isabel’s apartment watching TV, “that it had to be a whole month and not just a couple of weeks.”

“I know,” Isabel said.

Mariella smiled sympathetically. “Well, he must have his reasons.”

Mariella had learned from the mistakes she made the previous September. She was careful not to push Isabel over the edge and cause a fight with Larry. She went so far as to even encourage her cousin’s excitement about Larry’s upcoming arrival. The negative was there, of course, but it was so subtle that it was easily deniable.

A week before he was to finally arrive, Isabel told Mariella it might be a good idea if Larry didn’t see them together. Again they avoided the subject of why.

“Of course,” Mariella said. “I understand. You want time alone.”

“Yes,” Isabel said, jumping on the excuse. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Maybe this time, he’ll even ask you to marry him.” Mariella’s smile was big and encouraging, but the effect of what she said caused Isabel to pause, doubt and hope fighting each other in her mind.

“If he’s ready,” was all that Isabel could say.

Larry arrived on a Sunday morning on a flight from Los Angeles. Isabel once again met him at the airport, and though he was obviously tired, there was excitement in his voice. Again, her hopes began to rise. Maybe this was indeed the trip he would ask her to move to the States with him so they could spend the rest of their lives together.

On the drive to Angeles, he explained that he had just made a deal to become a partner in a delivery service that covered the San Diego area in California, and was working on another deal that would even get him into Los Angeles. Isabel smiled and congratulated him, while inside her mood dipped.

His entire trip ended up being like that. Isabel’s hopes rising in anticipation, and Larry, unaware of what she was expecting, failing to say the words she wanted to hear. But she did a good job of hiding her disappointment, and even as he kissed her goodbye at their familiar spot in front of the terminal at Aquino International Airport, he didn’t know there was anything wrong.

I didn’t see Larry on that trip. Instead, I was in Australia attending Robbie’s funeral. It’s strange how sometimes when something is expected, it can still come as a surprise. It was that way for me with Robbie. For months I knew the end was coming; he’d been honest with me about that.

“Doubt I’ll even see June,” he’d told me over the phone in a voice I almost didn’t recognize. “Too bad. I’ll be sixty-five in June. Time for me to retire.” He laughed, but it quickly turned into a fit of coughing.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Nothing a new body wouldn’t solve.” He tried to laugh again, and failed.

On another call, just a week before the end, we talked about The Lounge.

“If you’d like,” he said, his voice no more than a harsh whisper, “I’ll sell you the whole place right now.”

“I can’t afford it,” I told him.

“I’ll give you a great price. Sell you my three-quarters for what I sold you your quarter for. Can’t beat that.”

I thanked him, but said I just couldn’t work it.

“I guess I’ll make a few calls and see who wants to buy in,” he said.

“That’s fine,” I told him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s someone you can work with.”

He was never able to make those calls, and as far as finding someone I could work with, he wasn’t able to keep that promise, either.

At the funeral I met his son, Frank. He was a forty-year-old version of his father, tall with a barrel chest.

“Everyone calls me Rowdy,” he said as we shook hands. “You’re Dad’s manager up at his bar in the Philippines, right?”

“Partner, actually.”

“Really?” Rowdy said, surprised. “He hadn’t told me that. Thought he owned the whole place.”

“He did once.”

“Guess I’m your partner now.”

“I guess so.”

Robbie had been a great guy and a good friend. I couldn’t have asked for a better boss or partner. After spending ten minutes with Rowdy, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say the same about him. When compared to his father, he was a cut below in every aspect of life-class, business savvy, intelligence.

We shook hands again before I left. He made sure to tell me he was going to come up for a visit very soon.

I couldn’t wait.

With Robbie dying, I had forgotten Larry was supposed to be in town, so I took a few extra days in Australia before returning home. Even if I had remembered Larry was going to be there, I probably still would have taken those days. I needed them to get my head on straight. So much was changing, so much was different.

I flew to Melbourne where I had some friends, thinking we might be able to hang out and relax. As it turned out, I never even tried to contact them. Instead, I ended up going on long walks through the city, not really paying attention to where I was or where I was going.

For a while I thought about Cathy, wondering how she was handling the cold of Scandinavia. I still missed her, but not like I had at first. It was her friendship I missed now, and in many ways that was worse.

I thought about The Lounge and Robbie and the girls and the never-ending party. I thought about my life before, about Maureen and Aunt Marla. And Lily.

And finally I thought about Larry, about how if he hadn’t woken me up again like he had, I'd still be sitting at The Lounge not caring about anyone or anything.

I thought about it all, and as I flew back to the Manila, I knew one thing for sure-my time in Philippines was coming to an end.

Mariella didn’t see Larry on that trip, either. At least if she did, Isabel never noticed her. Something tells me she was there somewhere, just around a corner or hiding in the shadows at a bar, watching and waiting.

She certainly knew when he left, though. Isabel hadn’t been back from the airport more than an hour when Mariella knocked on her door.

“So show me,” Mariella said, rushing into the room all excited. “Let me see it.”

Isabel closed the door, her eyes red from crying. “See what?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” Mariella said.

“Larry’s gone,” Isabel said. “That’s all.”

“But this time was different, right?” Mariella smiled, then reached for Isabel’s left hand. “Let me see it.” She pulled Mariella’s hand up. “Where’s the ring?”

“What ring?”

“Didn’t he-”

Isabel cut her off with a shake of her head. “He wasn’t ready yet.”

“Did he tell you this?”

“We didn’t talk about it.”

Isabel walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. Mariella followed and sat beside her.

“I don’t understand,” Mariella said. “What is he waiting for? You’ve been seeing him for a long time now.”

“I told you, he’s not ready.”

Mariella started to say something else, but stopped herself and put an arm around her cousin’s shoulder. Isabel closed her eyes and started to cry again.

Mariella stayed over that night, comforting Isabel as she tried to sleep, eventually offering her one of the same type of sleeping pills she had given her that night in Larry’s hotel room.

The next day, Mariella continued to stay by her side, saying things like, “I’m sure it will all be okay,” and, “He’ll ask you next time. I’m sure of it.”

Mariella finally left when Isabel went to work that evening. She had at first asked Isabel if she really wanted to work, and Isabel said she had to. It was her job. So Mariella let her go alone. She probably didn’t know I was still in Australia, but even if she had, I doubt she would have come into The Lounge.

The next day Mariella visited again. But instead of being the cheery, supportive friend she had been the day before, she seemed annoyed and distracted. When Isabel asked if there was something bothering her, Mariella just shook her head and said, “It’s nothing.”

They ate lunch on the couch watching TV, leftover pasta from when Larry had been there. Mariella said nothing the entire time, and ate very little. Isabel, who had begun to feel a little better, ate about half her helping before she noticed her cousin was still not herself.

“What is it?” Isabel asked.

“I told you, it’s nothing,” Mariella said.

“I know you did, but I don’t believe you.”

Mariella gave her a short, humorless laugh. “Sorry,” she said. “I should try harder to hide my feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me.” Isabel put a hand on Mariella’s back. “You’re like my big sister. If something’s bothering you, let me help.”

Mariella looked down at the floor. “It’s not my problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

When Mariella looked up again, there were tears in her eyes. “It’s you,” she said. “I’m worried about you.”

Isabel wasn’t sure how to react, so she did the only thing that made sense to her. She reached out and pulled Mariella into her arms. “I’m fine. Today I feel much better.”

But Mariella didn’t stop crying. After a while a few tears began to form in the corners of Isabel’s eyes, too. She continued to hug her cousin and tell her everything was all right. “I was thinking about it too much,” she said. “He’s just not ready yet, that’s all. I just have to be patient.”

“I’m not so sure,” Mariella finally said.

Isabel pulled back. “What do you mean?”

Mariella’s face was a mess of tears and mascara. She sniffed a couple of times before looking at Isabel.

“Last night I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “All night, all I could do was think about you. I began to wonder if it was right for me to lie to you and get your hopes up.”

“Lie to me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What did you lie about?”

“Please, forget it. I should never have said anything.” Mariella buried her face in her hands.

Isabel grabbed one of Mariella’s wrists and pulled it away from her cousin’s face. “Tell me what you lied about,” she demanded.

Mariella said nothing at first, then, “I told you yesterday I thought he would ask you to marry him next time he comes.” She paused, looking again at Isabel. “That was the lie.”

“You mean you don’t think he will ask next time?”

“I mean he won’t ask you ever.”

Isabel didn’t breathe for several seconds. What Mariella had said was the one thing Isabel had never let herself think.

“You’re wrong,” Isabel said. She stood up. “You’re wrong. He will marry me. I know he will. He loves me.”

Mariella glanced around the room. “When he got you this apartment, what was the deal he made with the landlord?”

Isabel hesitated before answering. “He paid for six months when I moved in, and paid for six more months when he was here last week.”

“That’s still another eight months,” Mariella said. “Is he going to wait until that’s over before he brings you to California? Or is he going to pay your landlord another six months when the time comes again? Or even a year?”

When he had paid for the additional six months before he left this last time, it had bothered Isabel but she had said nothing. Business was going well for Larry. She told herself it wouldn’t matter to him if she moved out of the apartment early and left for the U.S. But hearing Mariella say it, she began to doubt again.

“You’re a good girl, Isabel,” Mariella said. “And you’ve been so good to Larry. But I’ve been here a lot longer than you and have seen much more. I don’t want you to get hurt. Not like I was.”

Again Mariella’s eyes moved away from Isabel’s face to focus on the floor for a moment before drifting back up.

“Like you?” Isabel asked.

“Look at me,” Mariella said. “Then look at yourself. I have an apartment that is paid for by a man I met in a bar. Once or twice a year he comes to visit me, but we never talk about getting married.” She took hold of Isabel’s hands, and looked her cousin directly in the eyes. “The only difference between you and me is that I know it will never happen.”

Isabel tried to pull her hands away. “No!” she yelled. “No. It’s not true.”

But Mariella would not let go. “You’re just like me,” she said.

Isabel tried to stand up, but Mariella gently nudged her back down. After a few moments, the struggling was replaced by tears. Now it was Mariella’s turn to comfort Isabel. She held her in her arms, saying nothing, gently stroking Isabel’s hair until the sobs ran their course.

Isabel didn’t come to work that night. Instead she stayed home alone. Mariella had wanted to stay, but Isabel told her there were things she had to think about, and the only way to do that was alone. Reluctantly, her cousin had left, promising to return the next morning.

There was no getting around it-Mariella had been right. At least that’s how Isabel perceived it at the time. Isabel had become Larry’s Philippine girl. She couldn’t help wondering how many other women he had.

If she had not been in such a hyperemotional state, she would have seen the truth, that there was no one else but her. But Mariella had done such a thorough job on her mind that she thought she was thinking clearly. Even years later, as she recounted her portion of the tale to me, she couldn’t understand how she’d been so completely manipulated.

The way she saw it at the time was that she had only two choices: accept the situation for what it was and give in completely-become like Mariella, in other words-or break it off. As much as she still loved her cousin, she knew she couldn’t live Mariella’s life, never having hope, never expecting more.

By the time she fell asleep, her mind was made up. She would call Larry and tell him she couldn’t do this any longer. It was the right thing to do, she thought.

Only it wasn’t. Not even close.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“I’m calling to say goodbye,” Isabel said into her cell phone.

It was morning in Angeles, but, because of the international dateline, still evening the day before in California.

Larry had to have been caught completely off guard, not only by what she had said, but also because he was the one who usually called her.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

She had to speak her words carefully so he wouldn’t hear the stutter in her voice as she fought for air. “I can’t be your girlfriend anymore.” She took a breath, then added, “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. I don’t-” She stopped herself. “I don’t love you anymore,” she said, the water welling in her eyes belying her words.

“I know that’s not true,” he said, his voice calm. “Tell me what’s wrong and we can figure it out together, okay?”

“There’s nothing to figure out, nothing to do. It’s over, di ba?”

“I don’t accept that.”

“I’ll move out of the apartment before the end of the month. I’ll try to get your money back.”

“Why would you move out?” he asked.

“I don’t feel right taking your money if we are not together.”

“You’d rather go back to living with a group of girls in crappy conditions?”

She hesitated before answering him, knowing what she said would upset him more. “I’m moving back in with my cousin.”

“Mariella?” Whatever trace of calm that had been in his voice was gone. “Dammit, Isabel. What’s she done to you?”

“Nothing. It’s not her fault. She’s my friend.”

“No, she’s not your friend.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this,” Isabel said. “I need to go.”

“Isabel, wait,” he said.

She resisted the urge to disconnect the call.

“I need you,” he said.

“No, you don’t.” This time she didn’t wait for him to say anything else before she hung up.

“Are you all right?” Mariella asked. She had been sitting on the couch watching Isabel pace while talking to Larry.

“No,” Isabel said. “I want to call him back, tell him I was wrong.”

Mariella got off the couch and quickly moved to her cousin’s side. “I know it’s hard,” she said, as she gently placed a hand on Isabel’s arm. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Isabel looked down at the phone. It would be so easy to just redial Larry’s number. Her thumb was subconsciously moving in the direction of the call button when suddenly her phone rang. Larry’s name was on the display.

“Is it him?” Mariella said.

Isabel nodded.

“Don’t answer it,” her cousin told her.

But Isabel accepted the call anyway and put the phone up to her ear.

“Isabel?” Larry said.

She said nothing.

“Isabel, are you there?”

Before she could answer him, Mariella grabbed the phone and pushed disconnect. Once she was sure he was no longer on the line, she turned the phone off.

“It’s better this way,” Mariella said. “If you want to end it, then end it. This way he’ll know it’s over.” Instead of giving the phone back to Isabel, she put it in her purse. “You don’t really need this right now. I’ll give it back to you in a few days, okay? Safer for you.”

“I didn’t even give him a chance,” Isabel said.

“Aren’t you listening to me? You cannot talk to him. You must let it go, di ba? There is no other way.”

Isabel took a step toward Mariella, reaching for her cousin’s bag. Mariella moved it out of reach.

“Give it to me,” Isabel said, grabbing for it again, but missing.

“No.”

“I made a mistake.”

“You didn’t,” Mariella said.

“Give me my phone.”

She tried to push Mariella out of the way to get to the purse, but Mariella anticipated this and moved to the side, the bag in her hand behind her back. As Isabel regained her balance, Mariella reached out and slapped her cousin across the face. Isabel froze in surprise, her cheek stinging from the blow.

“Stop it,” Mariella said. “You did the right thing. Talking to him now won’t help anything.”

“But-” Isabel began.

“No,” Mariella cut her off. “It’s over. Better for you. You’ll see.”

Isabel slumped onto the couch, defeated.

That had to have been a moment of triumph for Mariella. In her mind, she must have thought she’d won. In a matter of minutes, her cousin had gone from being one of the lucky ones to just another bar girl. No chance she would overshadow Mariella now.

I don’t know what was going on with Larry back in San Francisco after he talked to Isabel, but I could make a pretty good guess. He must have tried calling her phone several times over the next couple of hours, only to be frustrated when she failed to answer.

He must have been going crazy. He loved Isabel as much as anyone could love another person. He had undoubtedly wanted to get his business squared away before asking her to marry him. For Larry it had probably been a matter of respect, waiting to show her that he could provide a good future. His error was in assuming she understood this. A girl back in the States might have, but Isabel had never left the Philippines. Any future he could have given her would have been better than what she had. Most of the guys who visited Angeles would have realized that, but Larry wasn’t like the others. He didn’t mingle with them, didn’t have experience with any of the other girls. The only person he really talked to was me, and God knows we never discussed it. Maybe I should have brought it up.

The bottom line was that he was thousands of miles away with no idea that his unstated intentions about their future was the problem. All he knew then was that something was wrong, and Mariella was behind it.

At some point the idea came to him that he had to fly back to Angeles as quickly as possible. Knowing Larry like I had, I don’t think he even considered any other option. So a mere three days after he had returned home from the Philippines, he was on a plane heading west over the Pacific Ocean again.

In the evening, after her call to Larry, Isabel was back at work. It was my first night back since returning from Australia. I was in the office going over the notes about what had transpired while I was gone, and I didn’t see her come in. When I stepped into the bar an hour later and noticed her serving drinks to one of the customers, it didn’t take long to know that something was wrong. She was pale, listless and unsmiling.

I asked her what was the matter, but all she told me was she wasn’t feeling well. I told her she should go home and get some sleep. She said she’d be fine, but I insisted. She finally relented and left.

I wasn’t surprised the next night when she didn’t show up. In fact, I was happy she was staying home to get well. What did surprise me, though, was that she didn’t call to tell me she wasn’t coming in, something she usually did. I had no way of knowing Mariella had her cell phone.

It turned out to be a pretty busy night. A group of about twenty guys from Germany had come to town, and it looked like another typical evening at The Lounge. After they’d been drinking for a while, a couple of them joined the girls on stage and started to do the awkward, male version of the striptease. All their friends were laughing and whistling and calling out in English, “More, more!”

Even as I knew I couldn’t let it go on for too long, I couldn’t help laughing a little. The last thing I wanted was a stage full of naked German men-definitely not what our usual crowd expected to see when they came in. I sent over a round of beers on the house, which, as I’d hoped, got the two temporary dancers back to their seats.

Around this time, the front door opened. I turned to see who it was, hoping that it wasn’t more of the Germans.

It was Larry.

He scanned the room, a worried look on his face. When he saw me, he walked over quickly.

“I thought you already went back to the States,” I said, surprised to see him.

“Is Isabel here?” he asked. No “hello,” no “how are you doing.”

“She didn’t come in,” I said. “I think she’s not feeling well.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He turned to leave.

“Larry,” I said, stopping him. “Is something wrong?”

His only answer was a halfhearted smile, then he turned and left.

I never saw him alive again.

Isabel was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, emotionally drained as Mariella sat beside her, leafing through a magazine. They had talked earlier, most of the day actually, but Isabel couldn’t talk anymore. What she really wanted to do was fall asleep, but her eyes wouldn’t close, and her mind wouldn’t turn off.

When they heard the knock on the front door, Mariella said she would see who it was. Isabel barely even registered it.

A moment later, Isabel heard a muffled male voice in the other room. “Where is she?”

By the time she realized it was Larry, he was standing at the bedroom doorway, Mariella a few steps behind him.

Isabel sat up. “What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised she was even able to speak.

He approached the bed cautiously. “Are you okay? Doc said you were sick.”

“You went to The Lounge?” she asked.

“I thought that’s where I’d find you.”

“What are you doing here?” she repeated, unable to believe he was actually there.

He sat on the bed beside her, close but not touching her. “After you called,” he said, “I didn’t know what to think. Then when you didn’t answer when I called back, I had no other choice. I had to come see you.”

When he mentioned his unanswered calls, Isabel shot a glance to where Mariella stood in the doorway, listening. There was no expression on her cousin’s face, but her eyes were ablaze with anger.

Larry took one of Isabel’s hands in his. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Again, she looked over at Mariella, but this time Larry turned his head and followed her gaze. When he saw Mariella, he dropped Isabel’s hand and stood up.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked.

He walked toward her, stopping when he was only a few feet away, but Mariella stood her ground.

“Whatever’s going on here is your fault,” Larry continued. “I don’t doubt that for a second. You’re not needed here anymore. Not ever.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” she said. “You’re the one who needs to leave. Isabel doesn’t want you anymore.”

Larry looked over his shoulder at Isabel. “Do you really want me to leave?”

In a tremulous voice, barely audible, she said, “No.”

Mariella screamed in frustration. “You’re confusing her!” she yelled. “You shouldn’t have come back. Go home! Go back to America! Play with someone else’s life!”

“I’m not playing with anyone’s life,” he said.

“You’re lying! Every day you play with Isabel’s life. Every day! What do you promise her? An apartment? That’s it! What kind of future is that? Leave her alone. She doesn’t need you!”

Larry didn’t say anything right away. When he did, there was bewilderment in his voice. “Is that what this is all about?” He turned and looked at Isabel. “You’re worried about a future? Our future?”

She looked away from him, unable to respond, but it was all the answer he needed.

“All this time, you’ve been waiting for me to ask you to marry me,” he said, the truth finally dawning on him.

“No,” Isabel managed. “Not all this time. But lately, I’ve wondered.”

“It’s what she deserves,” Mariella spat. “You couldn’t give it to her. You’re just like all the others here. You only want boom-boom and pretend love. That’s enough for you, but you made her think you wanted more. You’re not a good man. Get out. Leave her alone.”

Larry wasn’t listening to Mariella anymore. He returned to the bed and crouched down on the floor next to where Isabel sat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely surprised. “I thought you got it. Everything I’ve done-how I’ve treated you, how I’m never happier than when I’m with you.” He paused. Maybe that’s when he realized it-Angeles was different. Angeles was the playground, the illusion. Probably more than anyplace else he had ever been, it was actions that counted here. Words meant next to nothing.

He looked at Isabel, his eyes wide. “I wanted to prove myself to you,” he said. “I wanted to show you I wasn’t like the other guys here, before I asked you to move away from your home. Isabel, there’s nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Isabel started to say something, but this time her voice deserted her. A tear ran down one of her cheeks as she reached out and touched Larry’s face. “Really?” she whispered.

Larry nodded, smiling. He placed his hand on her knee, his eyes locked on hers. “Marry me,” he said. “Tonight if we can. Or tomorrow if we have to. Will you?”

Tears were now pouring down. As she said yes, she leaned forward, burying her face in his shoulder, truly and completely happy for the first in her life.

When she sat up again, her eyes strayed toward the doorway.

Mariella was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A slight glow of deep blue began encroaching on the black night sky. We were still sitting on the ground near the pool, but our legs were no longer in the water.

All of this was news to me. I had never known exactly how far Mariella had involved herself in Isabel’s life. And while I was aware of Larry’s dislike for her, I never realized all the reasons why. I’d always thought he was like the rest of us who were able to easily see through Mariella’s games. I just assumed he was worried that Mariella’s selfish, superficial ways might rub off on Isabel. Now I realized it was so much more than that.

And until that night-that morning, really-as I sat with a girl who had once been my friend, listening to her remember things she’d kept locked up for so long, I’d never known Larry had proposed to her.

I had come back to the Philippines because there were things I needed to know, questions I had never been able to answer. Now those questions were disappearing one by one.

“What happened next?” I asked.

Isabel made no response. I knew she had heard me, but I was content to wait until she was ready to continue.

“We can’t get married tonight,” she said. “It’s too late.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Larry told her.

They were standing in the living room, Isabel’s head against Larry’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Completely,” he said.

She smiled, but then thought of something else. “What about my visa? I can’t go back with you yet.”

“I know. Tomorrow, after we get married, we’ll go to Manila and get the paperwork started.”

“I’ve heard other girls say it may take a long time.”

“But we’ll still be married.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Yes,” she said, losing herself in the idea of it. “It will be different, won’t it?”

He chuckled, then said, “I’ll still have to go back home, though. We’ll be apart for a while.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “However long it takes, it will be fine.”

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so he could kiss her. As they embraced, Larry’s stomach rumbled.

“Sorry,” he said.

Isabel began to laugh, and he soon joined her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“A little, I guess.” As he smiled, his stomach groaned again. “OK, more than a little.”

“Let me fix you something. Sit.”

She pushed him toward the couch, but he followed her into the kitchen and watched her reheat some chicken from the day before. There was still one of his beers in the refrigerator, so she pulled it out and opened it for him.

“Thanks,” he told her.

He ate where he stood, leaning again the wall, his eyes seldom leaving Isabel.

“Tell me about California,” she said. “I want to know it all.”

“And you will,” he said. He told her about the Golden Gate Bridge, about Nob Hill, Chinatown, the Presidio. He described his house to her, saying he wanted her to help him redecorate it. He said if she wanted, they could get a dog.

She wanted to ask him about children, but she thought it could wait. He would be such a good father, she knew, so of course he would want kids.

“You must be tired,” she finally said. “Shall we go to bed?”

“My suitcase,” he said. “I left it with the receptionist at the Las Palmas.”

“You took a hotel room?” she asked.

“No, I was waiting until I talked to you first, but I didn’t want to carry the damn thing all over the place.”

“You want to go get it now?” she asked.

He nodded. “I told them I’d be back tonight.”

They went together, walking down Isabel’s dark street to a place where it would be easier to get a trike. The ride to the Las Palmas only took them a few minutes. Once they got there, Larry and Isabel went inside and retrieved his suitcase.

“How about a drink?” Larry suggested as they neared the bar on their way to the front door.

“Whatever you’d like,” she said.

He ordered a San Mig, but Isabel only got a Coke.

“I can’t believe you came back,” she said.

“I can’t believe you tried to break up with me.”

She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s the problem? I talked you out of it, didn’t I?”

She nodded.

Back outside, they signaled to the group of trike drivers gathered in front of The Pussycat Bar. The one on the end started his engine and drove over to them.

It was a little more crowded in the enclosed sidecar now that they had Larry’s suitcase. Luckily it was only carry-on size, as he had opted to leave his larger one at home.

“Are you okay?” Isabel asked.

Larry was supporting most of the suitcase in his lap. “It only hurts a little,” he said, smiling.

They rode in silence, the sound of the trike driver’s motorcycle loud enough to make conversation difficult.

They were about half a mile from Isabel’s apartment when it happened.

Streetlights were hit or miss in Angeles, and they happened to be on one of the darker streets when a car raced by, then suddenly stopped in front of them too quickly for the trike driver to avoid it.

Motorcycle and sidecar smashed into the back of the beat-up sedan, sending the driver flying over the car’s trunk into the back window. The only thing that kept Isabel and Larry from the same fate was the canopy and front windshield of the sidecar. They lurched forward but remained inside the sidecar.

Isabel ended up under both Larry and the suitcase. Larry quickly sat back, pulling the suitcase with him and then throwing it onto the street, out of the way. Isabel’s arm was broken and her right foot was twisted in a way it was never meant to go. Larry leaned down to get a better look.

“You’re bleeding,” Isabel said, her voice weak. “Your head.”

He touched his forehead, and when he moved his hand back in front of his face, it was covered with blood.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

They heard footsteps approaching. Larry turned back toward the street. “I could use some help,” he called out.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away. Larry must have seen someone there because he smiled, relieved.

“Thank God,” Larry said. “My girlfriend’s hurt. Maybe you can help me get-”

Suddenly, several hands reached into the vehicle and pulled Larry out.

“Wait!” Larry yelled. “She needs help!”

But whoever he was talking to didn’t seem to be listening.

There was a thud and a slap, then Isabel heard a dragging sound as the feet moved away again. The accident made her confused. She didn’t recognize the sounds for what they were. She waited for someone to pull her out, too, but nearly two minutes passed and no one came.

“Larry?” she called out.

Nothing.

“Someone, please. I need help.”

Still no reply.

“Larry!”

Something was wrong. She knew it. She had to get out. She had to find Larry.

She tried to pull herself back into what was left of the chair. Pain screamed from both her arm and her ankle. There was also pain in her side and her hip, though neither as intense as the first two.

Once she was upright again, she leaned through the door and looked out. It took her a second to realize the sidecar had somehow swung around so that it was now perpendicular to the street. She couldn’t see the motorcycle portion from where she was, or the car they had hit. What she did see was an empty street.

“Larry!” she called.

As she pushed herself out of the sidecar with her good arm, an older woman appeared around the front end.

“Naku!” the woman said. Then she shouted, “There’s a girl over here who needs help!”

Soon two people, the old woman and a girl not much older than Isabel, helped Isabel to the side of the road.

“My boyfriend. I don’t know what happened to him,” Isabel said.

“The driver?” the young woman asked.

“No,” Isabel said. “An American. My fiance.”

“There are only the two of you,” the woman said.

“He’s here,” Isabel insisted. “Someone pulled him out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Isabel yelled, nearly hysterical.

The young woman shook her head. “There’s only the two of you,” she repeated.

They found Larry’s body a few blocks away in an empty lot. It was a couple of kids who made the discovery. They were up early looking for anything valuable they might be able to sell for a few pesos.

Larry had been stabbed three times, any one of which would have been fatal.

The police came to my house at ten in the morning and woke me up. With Isabel in the hospital, they needed me to identify the body. How they knew my connection with Larry, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter anyway.

His face seemed paler, and his skin looked almost like plastic, but it was Larry. No question about it. When I asked what had happened, they said it was a robbery gone bad. They then asked me if I wanted to see the wounds. I told them no.

At the time I had no reason to question their conclusion. Larry’s wallet was missing, and if he had anything else of value on him at the time of the incident, it was also gone.

After I had identified Larry and told the cops I would make the arrangements to send him home, I went to the hospital to see Isabel. She was in a large room with five other patients. Her arm was wrapped and immobilized, but not yet in a cast. I couldn’t see her foot, but the doctor told me the ankle was broken.

There were bruises on her face, and I was sure the damage continued underneath the blanket in areas I couldn’t see. She was in a drug-induced sleep. I asked the doctor when I should come back, and he told me he doubted she’d wake up before the next morning.

That evening I decided to give the girls the night off, and closed The Lounge. I knew if we had opened, it would have been a pretty somber place. All the girls liked Isabel, and most knew Larry, too. It was no time for a party.

I don’t know what everyone else did, but I stayed home, wandering the rooms of my home, taking stock of the possessions I had accumulated. Pictures and furniture and satellite TV and even the house itself, with its three bedrooms and its pool out back. They all represented who I had become in some way, an ex-pat who rented girls for the night, and whose closest friends were drunks and lechers. That’s what I was left with once Larry was gone.

I remember staring out my front window at a palm tree that grew in a neighbor’s yard, the lights from their house illuminating it like a piece of art in a museum. It was tall and thin and swayed slightly in the wind. It was so simple, and so beautiful. I remember thinking, wasn’t that what I had wanted in the beginning? Something simple? An early retirement and plenty of time to do nothing.

But I had damned myself the moment I decided to move to the Philippines.

When I finally turned away from the window, I looked at my house with new eyes. I would sell it as is, furnished and decorated. I would take only the things I really needed.

For me, the never-ending party stopped that night. Rowdy could run the bar himself once he got there.

I was done.

When I arrived at the hospital the next morning, the doctor told me Isabel was awake. He also told me something else.

“She’s been asking for the man,” he said. “Larry?”

“She doesn’t know?” I asked.

The doctor paused before answering. “We thought it best if it came from one of her friends.”

Which meant me.

I entered her room, my head swirling with anxiety and sadness and a deep desire to turn around and leave so that someone else could do what I was about to.

She didn’t see me at first. Her eyes were half shut, pain creasing her brow. I noticed her arm was now in a cast, and the bruises on her face had grown.

I stood at the side of her bed. “Isabel?”

She opened her eyes slowly, and they brightened some when she realized who I was. “Hi, Papa,” she said.

“You look like you’re in pain. Do you need something?” I asked.

“The nurse just gave me a pill,” she said. “I’ll feel better in a moment.”

“The doctor tells me that your arm will heal and your ankle, too. It’ll just take a little time.”

She tried to smile, but that only caused more pain.

“Is Larry here?” she asked. “I thought he would come visit me, but I haven’t seen him.”

I didn’t know how to begin, so I took what I hoped was the easy way out. “What’s important right now is you get some rest and get better,” I said.

“Where is he?” she asked, not letting it go. “Is he hurt?” She tried to push herself up, but didn’t get far before pain forced her back down. “I need to see him.”

“Isabel,” I said. “Larry’s not here. And he’s not coming.”

She looked at me, confused. Before she could ask another question, I said, “He died after the accident.”

I watched as panic overtook her, deforming her face and causing the hand of her unbroken arm to shake. She opened her mouth several times to speak, and when she finally did, her words piled on top of each other in a stuttered gasp. “But he was okay. He wasn’t hurt. Not like me.”

I noticed the doctor and one of the nurses hovering nearby. They had obviously anticipated Isabel’s reaction to the news they had fated me to deliver.

“Isabel, there’s nothing you can do. You just need to get better.”

I knew my words were inadequate. What do you tell someone when the man she’d loved for two years was dead? Whatever it was, I didn’t know it.

“I need to see him,” she said, her voice suddenly strong. “I need to see him now.”

Again she pushed herself up, this time succeeding in reaching a sitting position. Apparently that was the cue for the doctor and nurse to move in.

“No!” Isabel screamed as they pushed her back down on the bed.

She tried to pull away, but she was too weak. When the nurse stuck the needle in her arm, she could barely even shrug. Soon Isabel’s eyes closed and she was once again asleep.

She never did see Larry again. His body was flown back to America and buried a week before she got out of the hospital. Her last sight of him had been as someone pulled him out of the sidecar while he protested that his girlfriend needed help.

CHAPTER THIRTY

A few of the early-bird guests had wandered down from their hotel rooms to the poolside restaurant for breakfast. The sky had turned a beautiful azure blue, with the only clouds in sight distant, dotting the horizon.

I asked Isabel if she wanted something to eat, but she said she wasn’t hungry. So we walked to the edge of the hotel property and looked out over the beach at the ocean.

“I don’t get to see this too often,” she said. “Mornings, I mean. Everything seems so much richer, and calmer. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” I told her, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Larry always wanted me to get up with him in the morning, but I always wanted to sleep.” She let out a short, derisive laugh. “That was time we missed spending with each other, I guess.”

Behind us somewhere came the laughter of children. On the air there was the aroma of eggs and meat. Boracay was slowly waking.

“It was Mariella, wasn’t it?” I asked.

Isabel looked at me, then returned her gaze to the ocean. “I think it was eight or nine months after the accident-you were gone by then. Even though I’d moved back home, I still heard from the girls sometimes, keeping me caught up on life in Angeles.” She paused and closed her eyes, either searching for a memory or trying to forget it. “The police caught a man who’d been robbing houses. When they were questioning him, he mentioned the accident. He claimed he wasn’t involved, but he had heard that a woman paid three men ten thousand pesos to kill an American. He said the woman was a bar girl.

“Two months later, Mariella came back to the province for a visit. I hadn’t seen her since just after the accident. She visited me in the hospital once. It was a quick visit. She’d been cold and uncaring, and I had been tired and depressed. And once I left the hospital, I only stayed in Angeles long enough to gather my things and get Larry’s money from you.

“By the time Mariella showed up back home, I knew she had to be the woman the man had described.” A grim smile crossed her face. “It’s funny-she greeted me like we were sisters, like we were the best friends in the world. She told everyone what a great time we’d had living together. I didn’t say anything to challenge her story. But on the third day she was there, we found ourselves alone at my parents’ shop, and I could no longer pretend that she was someone I was happy to see.

“‘When are you coming back?’ she asked.

“‘I’m not going back,’ I told her.

“‘Why not?’ she asked me.

“‘Because you’re there,’ I said.

“I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting. Her eyes became mean, and she asked me, ‘Why would you say that?’

“I almost said, ‘Because you killed Larry.’ But why? She would just deny it. I knew the truth.”

There was anger in Isabel’s voice as she relived the moment. I put my arm around her shoulder, letting her know I was there, and that what she was remembering was in the past. Slowly I felt the tension ease from her body.

“Before she left town,” Isabel began again, “she made sure we had another moment alone.

“She told me, ‘Don’t ever think you are better than me. You never were, and you never will be. I’ve already proved that to you. I’ve shown you how quickly you can fall back down, and if you ever try to make something better again, I’ll do what I did to you before. Only maybe this time, it will be you who will end up in the ground.’

“I slapped her as hard as I could, wishing that instead of an empty hand I’d been holding a knife. I could have killed her then. That’s how I felt. I could have killed her. I wanted to kill her.”

She stared out at the water, blue and inviting. She became lost in her thoughts, her own memories, and I did nothing to disturb her. Finally she turned to me. There was a tear running down her left cheek, but she wiped it away and smiled tentatively.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. It’s all right.” I hesitated a moment, then said, “I didn’t see Mariella when I was in Angeles earlier this week.”

“She’s gone,” Isabel said, her voice flat.

“Where?” I asked, thinking Mariella had finally been able to convince someone to take her out of the Philippines.

“Just gone. She’s never coming back.”

That was all Isabel would say.

Eventually, we returned to my room. While Isabel went into the bathroom, I lay down on my bed, dead tired, but feeling like I might never sleep again. It’s strange how sometimes when you finally find the answers you’ve been looking for, the questions don’t seem quite as important anymore. That was the way it was with my memories of Larry. As I learned why he died, I came to remember how he lived, and how good a friend he had been to me.

When Isabel came out of the bathroom, she walked over and lay on the bed beside me.

“Please,” she said.

I put my arms around her, and stroked her hair. I was surprised she never cried, but maybe she’d already cried enough. Soon she was asleep, and after a while, I was, too.

After checking with the airline, I was able to move my flight out of Manila to the following afternoon, meaning I needed to leave Boracay first thing in the morning.

Isabel didn’t wake up until after eight p.m.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“A little,” she said.

We walked several blocks until we found a small Chinese restaurant. I asked her if that was okay, and she said, “Anything,” so we went inside.

There was very little conversation between us now. I guess we’d said almost everything we needed to say.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” I told her. “But you can stay with me one more night, if you’d like.”

She smiled, then nodded. “Thank you.”

After a while, I said, “I’m not coming back.”

She looked at me, her brow furrowing slightly, unsure of what I meant.

“To the Philippines,” I added.

“I know,” she said, sounding both sad and relieved.

“You should go home, too. Back to where you grew up.”

“Maybe,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice. “I have a dream, you know. Maybe be a nurse.” She looked at me. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I think that would be great.”

She smiled, but I knew there was little chance she would follow through with it. It was a dream, a bar-girl dream, one without a plan. Chances were, the farthest she would ever go would be to become a mamasan someday. And even that wasn’t a sure thing. She’d already had her chance at the dream, and it had been ripped from her hands.

Despite sleeping the day away, we were both pretty tired when we got back to the room. This time, as we lay down to sleep, Isabel went back to her own bed.

I woke before the sun came up, took a shower, then got dressed and packed my bags. All the while, Isabel continued to sleep. I had to wake her soon, but first I pulled out all the cash I could spare-over nine thousand pesos-and put it in Isabel’s purse. As I was closing her bag, I realized it was almost the same amount Mariella had supposedly paid to have Larry killed. I hoped that this money would go to better use.

I woke her and told her it was almost time for me to leave. She got dressed quickly, and soon we exited our room and made our way to the front of the hotel. I signaled for one of the trikes that were waiting nearby. As it drove up, I turned to Isabel.

“Be careful,” I said.

“I always am,” she said.

There was more I would have liked to say, but I knew my ideas and suggestions would not be heard. Despite the fact that I had spent the last forty-eight hours reminding her of the person she used to be, that wasn’t who she was anymore.

“Papa?” she said. “I’ve been trying to forget him for so long.”

“I know,” I said.

She hesitated. “I’m glad you found me.”

“Even though I forced you not to forget?”

“I know I can never forget.”

Even though I’d found the answers I’d come searching for, I realized I would not be able to forget, either. The most I could hope for was honoring Larry’s memory to the best of my abilities. Starting with Isabel.

“What about school?”

“School?” She looked at me, confused.

“You mentioned becoming a nurse last night.”

She nodded, her smile slipping. “Maybe it’s too late.”

“Isabel,” I said. “It’s not.” Then I decided to play the only card I thought might push her into motion. “Larry would have liked that.”

She didn’t say anything for almost a minute. “Maybe I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“There’s so much more out there for you than this.”

She scanned the tropical trees that surrounded the front of the hotel. The air was fresh and warm, and the sky was bluer than blue.

“Is there?” she said.

I didn’t say anything. That was a question only she could answer. After a moment, I pulled out one of my business cards and gave it to her. “If you ever need to talk, call me. I mean it.”

We dropped back into silence, and it was then that I knew we were done. It was time for me to go home, to truly start my new life. My Bangkok life.

Natt deserved that much. No, she deserved more, so much more. And I knew for the first time since I had met her at the language school where she had worked that I could give it all to her. My whole self. Everything.

The Philippines, Angeles, the girls, the guys, the life-all of it would still be part of me. But not like it had been. I thought I was done with everything when I’d moved away, but my restless, often sleepless nights had said otherwise. Now it was really over.

I turned toward Isabel, smiling as best I could, then opened my arms to say goodbye.

Content

Brett Battles
The Pull of Gravity

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY