She was smiling at me when I met her in the middle of the hotel lobby. I heard
a hundred people around us but they were a blur. All I saw was her. Looking at
her was like looking at springtime, in slow motion.
It seemed so natural for me to brush my cheek against hers in greeting, just
so, without our bodies touching and with just the barest contact of our hands.
A wisp of perfume! She whispered, Hello.
I hope you did not wait too long, I answered back as soon as I regained my
voice and my balance. She was about ten minutes early. Oh, no ! she said, I
just got here.
Let me see now, ah, yeah, you said you prefer Japanese. There's one just a
couple of blocks from here. But lets take a cab. It's too hot out there to
walk.
Okay.
I led her by the elbow. The front desk people were observing us. And the
bellhop who was doubling as the doorman kept looking at her. Stop staring, you
idiot. She's mine, mine, mine! He must be thinking about the age discrepancy.
None of his goddamn business.
The taxi ride was short and uneventful. Insignificant banter. I made an effort
to put some distance between her and me in the cab. I did not want to scare her
off.
To my surprise, the restaurant was quite authentic. They were all Japanese
except the cleaning boy. I answered back the 'Ohayo gusaimas' of the
headwaiter, who dared not look directly at my dark glass shaded eyes. 'Domo,
arigatoh'. Hah, I said to myself, that should impress her.
We looked at the menu quietly until she finaly confided that she did not know
what to order and please could I possibly help her? Okay, so I rattled off
several things. Sashimi, sushi, not too much wasabe please and yes
definitely, misoshiro. She looked at me while I was ordering, pretending to be
impressed, teasing me. And finally, I said, cold sake please, tomadatsi san.
Cold sake was the in thing, no the hot one, I explained to her. Now I was even
getting impressed with myself. So was the waiter who must have said a hundred
'Hai's . I was thinking, I was going to be calling him Mr. Hai.
Hmmm, are you trying to get me drunk ? Teasing again, raising an eyebrow.
No, I answered back, just enough so I can seduce you, I jokingly leered back. I
laughed a little after this remark. She pretended surprise and opened both eyes
wide, not offended, then gave me a Mona Lisa smile.
I remembered an old refrain -'All the world forgotten, in one woman's smile.'
We ate slowly, deliberately, hardly talking. We were both using chopsticks
although she seemed more comfortable with them than I was. The sake was
starting to affect me, my heart was beating faster and I was getting flushed. I
hoped she did not notice it because she seemed so calm as if she did not have
any alcohol at all. I guess some people are like that. Just before dessert and
this was three hours later, she excused herself to go to the powder room.
The waiter was taking frequent glances at our table, vaguely suggesting for us
to go already, waiting for me to ask for the check so he could get his tip. In
reality, we have been eating and talking for a long time. His world collapsed
when I asked for another round of cold sake. Then, not waiting for her to come
back, I went to the men's room myself. Oooh, what a relief it was !
I got back just as she was about to take her seat. She did not show that she
was surprised that her ceramic sake cup was full again.We continued talking
until finally, the headwater came and told us, please they were closing the
restaurant to prepare for dinner time. I suggested we go back to the hotel and
have coffee or something. She did not protest and I wanted to make sure I did
not sound like I was propositioning her. Too soon, I thought to myself.
Back in Shangri-La we did not order coffee. Instead I suggested we drink
Hairy Navel, a sweetish beverage, some kind of German concoction with fruit
juices and gin or vodka. I was feeling adventurous. I thought she was, too.
We talked about a lot of things but I maneuvered it in such a way that I could
get to know more about her. She told me about her life story, how she loved
Butuan and how she missed living there. Her permanent residence was in Manila.
How she missed her friends and classmates. I knew several of them but I never
let on. I gave her the impression that I was a stranger in Butuan, having
stayed there only a few years although I graduated from the same high school as
she did. I made doubly sure I did not ask about her marital status and
children, if she had any.
She was quiet for a minute or so then she looked at me and solemnly declared,
I'm married, you know. I did not say anything, kept my mouth shut. Not getting
a reaction, she continued. My husband, he goes on these long business trips.
Right now he is in Bacolod He has been there for almost three months. Was she
trying to justify her actions in advance? I wondered.
I finally answered, Is that why you were alone during our high school reunion?
Must be tough.
What?
You know, aaa, being alone, being left for such a long time. Must be lonely.
Yeah, it gets lonely sometimes. We don't have kids. I did not want any if we
were going to live this way. A touch of sadness there, more like melancholia. I
did not say anything, best not to say anything. A long pause, then I looked at
her for a long while, reached for her hand with my mine and held it softly.
(Yeah, you may call it a caress if you want to.)
At six o'clock, the sun sets in Makati, right on the dot. Trying to sound as
indifferent as possible ,I said, I need an excuse to embrace you. Where can we
go dancing? You know, like one of those night clubs along Dewey Boulevard, like
Tirso Cruz?
She perked up and said teasingly, You're silly, you know? It's now called Roxas
Boulevard. Tirso Cruz died a long time ago. She pulled her hand away, but only
after she gave my thumb a little but definite squeeze. I spilled my drink.
Most of it fell on my pants and on the carpeted floor. The waitress glared at
me with obvious disapproval. Don't blame me, I pleaded with my eyes, I just
had a taste of paradise.
It's to early to go dancing, she said. Why don't I go home first and we'll just
meet again later, something like eight?
No, no, no ! I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't we go have dinner in
one of those seafood restaurants along the bay, THEN go dancing, emphasizing
the THEN.
Ummm, Oh, okay, but let me go to the ladies' room again.
Okay, I said, disguising my voice so I did not sound too pleased with my self,
not too triumphant.
We went to the comfort rooms almost simultaneously although I got back before
she did, paid the tab, and cradled my drink with my right hand until she came
back five minutes later. Does anybody know how long five minutes can be? All
the while I was thinking all kinds of desperate thoughts, like she went out the
backdoor and abandoned me.
The alcohol hit me before we left. No, not stinking drunk. Just enough for me
to feel bold and irresistible, strong, young, and confident.During that five
minutes she was gone, I thought to myself I was a lucky son-of-a-gun. Why me?
Im just an old man, balding, not particularly ugly, but definitely far from
handsome.. How can I be so lucky that this beautiful lonely creature would even
think of spending the whole afternoon, perchance, the whole night with me? Of
course people say I can be charming. I don' believe it. People say I have a
way with words. I don't believe that either. Maybe Fate is just being kind to
me, getting me a taste of heaven because I'll die next month. Or perhaps I will
be disabled, like my cousin who had a stroke and is completely dependent on his
wife for everything, even to pee. I would rather die than live a degrading life
like that. If ever it gets to that point, then
I would rather die with dignity, like Yul Brynner committing suicide in The
King and I, I will just stop breathing.
Morbid thoughts. Introspective. Alcohol does that to me sometimes.
She came back, walking that walk, with what looked like a sway, a subtle
invitation to the beholder to dare to savor more. Her breast bounced up and
down with every step she took. I watched in awe.
Alcohol gets me that way , too. Aroused.
We took a cab to the boulevard. It was dark now, but I don't know why the
drivers in the Philippines don't turn their headlights on. Traffic was light
but the driver drove slowly, squinting, avoiding the rearview mirror, hoping
for a longer time and higher fare. Probably used to dirty old men and their
victims. But who's the victim?
I gradually inched towards her until our shoulders and thighs touched. I
reached for her hand. If she gets mad, I'll just pretend I was a little drunk.
But she did not move away. I took a deep breath and let out a big sigh.
to be continued in Chapter 3.
